Terry Champlin

What's that on the road?
     Looks like an old suit of cloths
and the key to the lock-box
     where my childhood secrets are enclosed.
There's an old book; its pages rustle like the leaves that blow by in the wind
     and I stoop to pick it up, but you cannot live the past again.

The time seems long gone
     when we could sing a simple song.
But the things that we really need,
     I think we've known them all along.
Moonlight on the lawn; the wind
     blowing through the trees sings its song...
You may not quite hear it,
     but that doesn't mean it's gone.

Say what you say, see what you see;
     I gather up the things I think are me
they say someday we'll lose it all,
     but you would not know sitting by the endless sea.

Clock of the years;
     the moments flee like frightened deer
into the mist
     where the present disappears

Clock of the stars;
     we see it from our gridlocked cars,
always spinning
     no matter where we are

Say what you say,
     see what you think you see;
we have one hand on today,
     and one hand on what we want to be

Sometimes I feel like a way station on an ancient road
     caring for the strangers inside my self.
Sometimes I feel like a story that has been told
     by someone else.
Sometimes I feel like a pair of dice
     about to know
     the truth on the very next throw,
     but as it happens, though,
I feel like a feather
     that God has thrown
     somewhere between Heaven
     and the good earth below

The time seems long gone
     when we could sing a simple song.
But the things that we really need,
     I think we've known them all along.
Moonlight on the lawn; the wind
     blowing through the trees sings its song
You may not quite hear it,
     but that doesn't mean it's gone.