what's left to master

if stories are told
on such rainy days
we might yet grow old
knowing better ways

no sort of measure
even of plain time
no hidden treasure
to fill out the rhyme

a kind of magic
we have required
it's never tragic
to see them fired

one horse and rider
galloping so fast
a crawling spider
survives the great blast

this music flowing
filling up each heart
the maples glowing
will each play their part

there is a cancer
we can't ever cure
to give the answer
means we're not pure

the gate is broken
this we remember
the lie is spoken
truth is an ember

we name the teacher
who gives us all hope
we leave the preacher
hanging on a rope

no time left to pause
no world left to choose
we suffer the laws
and we win or lose