life's wayang play

what memories are ruffled by the breeze
when we are least concerned with old regret
and looking upwards see in silhouette
against the rosy sky the still-dark trees
those who are standing and those on their knees
prepare to face the world with faces set
and yet they find themselves caught in the net
all become victims of the oldest wheeze
we look but cannot see the morning birds
the sun illuminates not one pale cloud
and the clear air is cold as well as dry
still we seek for the better nobler words
we'll dare to speak the truest names aloud
and hope for kindness coming from the sky