Daydream Hill Poem by James Merchant

As a lad I was neither strong nor weak
My future never promises, but the day is never bleak
Wayward footsteps patter along
To suburban anthems drenched in wrong

The ancients are watching
The ancients are knowing
They are all reaping
What we're sowing

The Sunday paper tucked 'neath my arm
As my young funnel-bones tremble with alarm
For there may yet be some passion
In the skeletons of the old-fashioned

The ancients are coughing
The ancients are stalking
Our ghostly preference
To hope and conveyance

You needed saving
We needed saving
A lifeboat tossed to our sides
But we don't accept....too thick is our pride

The ancients are leaving
The rest are grieving
A once young man's waning hours
His grave is ready, bedecked with flowers