Hazy Symphony

“Where will we go?”

Oh, you have no idea

Within the ebb and flow

Of semi-detailed, half criteria

What possibly would win us over.

And oh, sure,

It would be easier to raise a flag

Upon the breaking of a dawn’s red stag

That, while it ate and browsed the field, looked up

To see it waving, waving all enough

For shade and circumspection.

Heaven’s white complexion

Always masks the roads we pave with gold

For once the light shines on them, we grow old

And fade into the stories that are told.