Life As I Wrote It

Doth if not thrill thee, Poet, Dead and dust though thy art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart? A boy of seven opens his eyes he's dreamy and young sees his whole life ride the beautiful song first breath had sung Now seventeen he knows it all he has seen all it's strings and stands quite tall among the puppets and the pompous kings Twenty five he has a lady marries her so fair together raise their baby a love quite pure and ever rare Fifty is when the madam died the world tasted so bleak as hard as he tried his depression started to leak Here's where it gets absurd insane as it may be that may not be the right word but let me tell you of a man short of ninety He's old and frail a smell of mothballs in the air as he tells his tale from the beginning when his boat set sail Right before this man passed he realized what it meant to live and how dumb he was in his past and all that he would give To have one new moment one new sound to live, grasp, and own it and all that he missed while looking at the ground I'll tell you this he heard something new as his death began to ensue he heard a million tiny bells chiming his name in one last earthly farewell