We cannot fix the past, although we know
That art is sometimes little more than that;
With colors, words or music, try we will
To reconstruct the pattern of our days,
The sorrows and the loss – the twisted maze –
Of which, most days, we’ve had more than our fill,
And which has left us dazed and rather fat
With all that weight, and still so far to go.

And yet, there is a kiss that comes at dawn,
That warms the body through, and calms the mind;
It can be fleeting, yet it’s always there,
The someones who for some strange cause still care,
And whose pure warmth upon our lives have shined,
And in whose eyes we’ll stay when we are gone.