And the Final 17…years
The rain falls, softy and softy on misty mountain
The Beast rides high but the children laugh
They sing of worlds fogotten and the path
that leads home again. Someone calls
Or ought to, for as they laugh and bounce balls
The end approaches, the final falling.
But for now the rain falls, and the grey mist
Makes a blur of Misty Mountain. She turns,
She turns 17 soon, ever so soon, yet sings
And sings her song of youth, yet the truth
Is that as she takes her walk, and we all talk
About her, life goes on, and we barely imagine
A life without her.
Firdar yawns, though, for now, and goes back
to sleep. And we love her still…..