Daedalus At Dawn (It is)

It is not Spring but youth is gone.

The rain’s green streams now fallen down

and so I watch the young in jealous envy

as they begin to play upon

the woebegone seas so fearless and unafraid

And think how we once made our lonesome pilgrimage

and listen as the wind explains

How it has seen it all,

The Spring of Springs,

the Song of Songs,

The thing of things

Men left behind,

And even how they Fall,

Until at once the scholar Wind returns again

But who can know

If we can trust the things it tells,

Or who it trusts as followers,

Always the reckless conquerors bestride the silly shore

and reckon with the reckless moon

And watch the tides turn back towards home

deciding who shall be the single victor for the day

But ‘tis not the wind

but blown thoughtless clouds

who ruthlessly sink down to fan

the Sun and wings and make the hapless Sea await with bated breath as we fall down to helplessness,

And once Wind has done its work

it leaves behind the Bluest sky,

In innocence,

And bids the waves to mock us from the Deep,

Now I alone inside my grief

ask of my wings who truly was betrayed?

Was it my heart or bravery,

Or did the treacherous Sun conspire with all the Sky and waves.

-Albert Turner Goins