To see a flower open into sun, To hear the crack of dawn in sparrow's tweet, To breathe the sounds of children having fun Through syncopated pats of toddler feet; And then to leave that all behind to join The wheel that swallows everything it finds To spin its labor straw into a coin As shiny as its meal of chewed-up minds; It's hard upon a silent, weary eye That misses hearts long dead and longer cherished, That knows no inability to cry And cries so long as longing hasn't perished. The solemn rite of weeping in the rain Is all a fool for love can hope to gain.