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