And every moon that rose and waned and waxed,
and every line still there when we’re relaxed,
and every hopeful number filofaxed,
and every doubt, and every painful crack,
and every bruise that’s left its mark in black,
and stressful, fractured bend that won’t bend back
the way it used to be. And every scar,
and every sumptuous fatty meal too far,
and all that wondering who and why you are –
to keep the promise or to break the vow.
And every nuclear test our bones allow,
and every furrowed artery and brow,
and every misspent night of love gone by,
and every memory that hurts. And every lie,
and every wasted egg and sperm and cry,
and every answer or solution blurred,
and every sorry little tale we heard,
and every hope we shelved or just deferred.
Another year, another spring, has flung
us up life’s ladder, slowly, rung on rung.
AND YET WE’RE STILL SO YOUNG!
January 1992