An old man, dreaming on a bench by some ancient stone building
Turned to me yesterday and said;
Her smooth hands could break a man’s wrist,
What has she done to be so strong?
I knew a woman who would,
Work all day, washing and lifting,
Moving and cutting
Yet became weak and bent like an old sea-nail,
A cancer cut her in half in the end.
Live life with passion, before it ends.
Some people never find passion
But mock and blur their evenings with drink and lies,
Find something to love, something of value
And feel it surge in you until it burst forth like a great spasm,
Wear your passion, share it, but keep it safe.
And if someone loves you,
Pray nothing hurts them,
Not cold winter rain
Not a car on a cold Wednesday afternoon, skidding across stones.
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