I was, I think, a man of some report;
But life deals out its lessons, lessons –
I moved across the worlds of love and sport,
And sang ideas into the empty night
Arrayed for urge, and ready for a fight.
I was, at times, a man of somewhat grace:
But hearts, ideas get broken, broken –
I followed on, but lost the lasting trace.
Where fantasies of color are struck blank
The fog, the mist, the night, the cloudy bank
Where hearts, ideas get broken, broken
As life deals out