Up the drive, ‘round a corner Stand atop of the front porch staring At the swing that used to hold Your end of the day thoughts There’s the old cherry trees and the neighbor who knows Every grandchild’s name even sewed them some clothes for Christmas you remember that Christmas what can we carry, what will stay with us what will shine like gold when the story’s told some things will tarry, some will return to dust there are things we can and things we cannot keep I was young and he was in high school in the band he played all the marches circle girls, boys and their solos dancing our hearts like an auction we’re for sale and we’re cheap and we’ll sing you a jingle oh “heart” seems to be the wrong word for a soul It’s crazy how we try to find solace Innocence like a bottle spun sacred stones in careless hands building up our cityscape we write our names on a plot of land where will we go, who will we be and what, if anything, can we carry?