Gifts

if you sing that lullaby then don't pretend

gird your soul that all'll be well in the end

let not your child grow up to think it was a lie

then pass on worries, wrapped in stories

to give some fleeting respite

if you must sing, first listen,

would you believe it, if you heard it yourself?

the man rummaging through garbage,

he was a child once, what did he hear himself?

what hopes did he have, and what remains of them?

does he hear them prodding him on

or just hear them complain, on and on

who gives him hope, courage, to face another day

whom to love, what to look forward to:

I can't say, I can't say

but I must believe somewhere buried inside

all of us, is treasure waiting to be found,

a blessing freely given that no

power, great or small can ever take away

and I must live as if a day

will come, when nothing else will matter.