Like children with balloons who understand
The ground is deadly in the game they play
And seek to keep aloft with foot or hand
That airy spheroid as long as they may,
I’ve filled my year’s remaining days and nights,
With singing, learning music, and performing,
In hopes that all the caroling and lights
Will keep the clouds of grief from ever forming.
For each experience that gives me joy
Makes melancholy in an equal measure,
Enough to temporarily destroy
The satisfaction one may find in leisure.
Once more I bat myself into the air
And hope that word and song will keep me there.