You're gone; he's gone; and I can't find
a meaning or joy in the explanation--why
do we fight and hide and embarrass ourselves
for so little while so much is the cost?
We're impatient; we can taste impurities
in the water before it quenches our thirst.
Does it, does it solve, does it cure?
Do we ever let it get that far?
Now, this is where it ends. It stops.
This fiasco has gone too far, because
it is our tendency to never, never
be in the right, start off the way we should.
But you're a lady, my dear, my darling.
A masterpiece in awe and every way.
Though they leave, at first they fight,
and there's the golden ticket--determination.
And I--I could never be the one for souls,
or the snow that rides on top the mountain.
The view is great up there, I'm sure,
and the snow itself is spectacular,
but I myself sit in the valley--
a rock, a tree, a whatever.
But oh, do I myself find the glory
of God and Earth and the Galaxies
that you, you might not ever know.
You might conquer, you might win,
but lady, I see the simplicity there and within
the realm and world and streets and signs
that the mountainside leaves behind.