Nor the addition and subtraction of many sums
Nor the fact that you could hold more reverentially
Nor the happy tunes you could have hummed.
It's not about the flowers you could have given
Nor the tangled noodles of the brain you could have undone
Nor the hand you could have clasped tight
At the setting of the blazing sun.
It comes calling on a night such as this,
It causes heartache at every wish,
And it's the long road with forks ahead
Where you must choose lest you be dead.
And the silver that engulfs you
And the golden eyes through which you are viewed
That must be what it is
Holding fast, holding slow, holding nevertheless
At the rising of the sun.
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