On a blackened, yet star-speckled night
As the Moon rose without reflecting light
As wintery winds injected frigid icicles into my blood
And distant furry wild spirits cried and howled
My instrospectiveness beckoned me, saying
“Come young one and reflect upon a few subjects.”
I thought of younger years, and wondered upon those meaningful tears
That have now been all-but-forgotten
Remembering the multitude of words I spoke
And the thousand forgotten promises that I broke
They brought me here
Perhaps not other purpose had they, I fear,
But my past has led me here.
And perhaps, after much more living
And after more deeds in need of forgiving
It will all tie up together in one
Neat little bundle
Why shouldn’t it?