at one beach

so we are clear that in the winter sun

beneath the cloudless sky when all is cold

though all is bright our hearts are not consoled

by any knowledge the good times are done

while an uncertain epoch has begun

when the best folk are not doomed to be old

when crab his kingdom has now been foretold

so that the countdown clock is on its run

we seldom grieve the brightness of the day

until we see the stars in the night sky

and then declare the sunlight was too brief

for all we had to do or had to say

yet know the while that our words are a lie

to cover up a monumental grief