If you should ever need me call my name.

For I will come in haste to clasp your hand,

and press your troubled heart close to my own.

There though the flame of love no longer flares,

an ember waits beneath years’ graying ash.

Waiting but breath to stir it once again,

kindling what was all consuming fire.

The years may steal the beauty of our youth.

The dreams we made.  The ecstasy of time,

where all was possible, those strength untried.

Was wisdom there beyond mere numbered years?

Now older, grayer, round where muscles were,

less sure that everything must go our way.

We stand, heads bowed, by endless toil bent low.

To dream what was and what we might have been.

But if you ever need me call my name,

for I will come in haste to hold your hand.

David Garlick, Desolation Sound, August, 1993