The Merry Moss
Was on the merry moss of childhood
Lazing in the haze of spring
Gathering the idle berries
Our young ears heard the starlings sing
Though tomorrow seemed forever
And the starlings sang our virgin joy
We impatient imps of folly
Ran on to pass the stagnant boy
Still on to adult destination
Proud to be the rapid steed
We spurred on the mortal gallop
That took us with uncommon speed
Yet on to the reluctant curfew
Withered, weathered, dry with loss
A single wish shouts its finale
Return beneath the merry moss
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