olive ripples wash the stones and
                   embrace our mute understanding
             of hours, even minutes paid for with tears of youth --
          listening through the mists of pain
            to the could bes of yesterday

         But now crinkled and greying,
            the lyrics crackle with a leering smile,
              accusing me of loving you with words designed, manufactured,
                 sold for Saturdays
        so I sing my wish with silent stares and flickers of knowing
            syllables
        discovering for the first time the ease of you