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Some say life is but a cherry,
Some say it's but nothing
at all.
Some find life in all
that's buried,
Others hang them on the wall.
All the rooms which we
have walked through,
All the halls where we do stall
Count the times that we
did run through,
Count the times when we
had to fall.
And the way that we are merry,
And the way we forgot to share
All those play toys on
the ferry,
All the ones left at the fair.
They say the soul is pure
in constance,
Others speak but get nowhere.
Others say there is no
such constance,
Others speak but get no wear.
But I'm sure there is a pathway
Leading from here up to
the stars.
But I'll wonder when
we're halfway,
What of all the wasteful scars?
All those people who
dreamed of wonders,
All those who dreamed at all-
Some have lived only in blunder,
Others lived not at all.
And the scars which man
does carry,
When they're laid down at last-
Will one face reflect the marry
Of the present to the past? |
