In a slow moment of that glowing age,
with scent of allamanda on the air,
it was impossible to feel despair
nor understand I was new on the stage.
The hidden words that lurked behind the page
had not yet shown how little time could care
about my tiny pleasures, and despair,
nor yield in silence to excess of rage.
The answers to the puzzle we have found
are always simple, but not always true,
and will be never more than half the story.
But there’s always more room beneath the ground
for failed intention, for failure to view
the world aright, and for absence of glory.
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