times gladness

much like an epic
you and me live
with desire in
solitary revelrie

much like a septic
tank overflowing we walk
our paths as if to laugh
and enjoy in what we are doing

much like the archer
whose skil in archery
will let him live
though arrows pierce times constancy

much like a father
who loves his daughter
who as he roams farther
he understands he's closer to the slaughter

much like a mother
who with knitting wit
and the kettle with
hot tea.

does make a soul
go round the world
as if it were in
 better company

much like a fire
our forbears willingly lit
the fire all our stories flee from
much like a stone

sitting alone in a bog quite desolate
much like a maori chief
who with poles through the whirring river
much like an author

much like growing up
the stories make him shiver
when reminisced

about a time where
no one doubt it

we lived a life
and it was
epic

and in the time
we take the door
we all will miss it