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The days do not last long of a man,
So now let us go,
Both you and I, hand in hand,
Journey away to a distant land
And let no one around us know.
While we are young, the Moon’s still high,
The Fruit of this place, still fresh to pick,
So now let us go, both you and I,
Journey away to where the lone wolves cry
Before in this agony we, too, get sick.
Misery and Age cannot touch us there,
Where we can tramp happily unto the end,
Frolic through downy fields without a care
And not have to cease because our wear,
Or stop before some passer and make amend.
In this place we can stand our last,
Uphold ourselves to our heart’s vow
And not have to keep track of present nor past,
Or worry about trouble on the horizon massed,
Because I swear to you we’ll make it by somehow.
Ronny Self
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