Ah, so fast
the years have past.
The walk around the moon
Once so casually done,
if hand in hand with one,
One loved just then,
and then the years came,
how hard to recall, whose
hand it was.

We look at our old withered
hand today and wonder
when will the golden years we
looked for arrive, and drive
the knots from my fingers and the
aches from my knees. What did
I do, did I live too long? A hand just
fell on my shoulder and I recall
whose hand it was and it's spring again.