To the Horizon --a Glossa-- Welcoming Whetstone Comments

I believe in the future, we shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime, but in yours, I feel sure
These prayers are the memory of god
Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears 

Old man lying abed 22 years
Wasn’t old when he first crawled in
Then his blanket was blue as a goal post
White satin ribbon running on the edge
His skin like a cougar’s, electric and lithe
Long ago, thought he knew the score
Now his fantasies are all under the sheets
He lies there alone in reverie
Stealing a peek at his neighbors next door
I believe in the future, we shall suffer no more

It’s an ancient art or discipline
This ballet of hearts ramping up our pulse
We play the game on a fresh blue field
Daisies sprouting between our toes
Toes digging into earth black as oil
Sheets of rain blanket the earth, the moor
But we wrinkle and blanch at the rainbow
Giving our colors to a higher promise
Giving a promise to calm and assure
Maybe not in my lifetime, but in yours, I feel sure

Wake up, Old Man, Wake up
Stretch out your hand and grab mine
Like swans let us cavort and dip
Kick up dirt and shake the sheets
A May pole in the middle of our lives
We swing around the lightning rod
Electrified and shouting, Hallelujah!
The glinting sun, an Aztec dome, to cover
My heart and yours, clasped, our hands applaud
These prayers are the memory of god

Seventeen years and we’re still in bed
Rolling around like paired cougars
The sheets are all creased by the work of our hands
Paisley blue, are those diamonds on your feet?
I walk more swiftly than you, Old Man
Our music sweetened by the sound of crows
Sweetened by a recurring coda
Until we un-hat our heads and unplug our ears
And lazily float down the Missouri river
I’m on the east shore, watching you cross over
Old Man, wasn’t the last time our best souvenir?
Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears 

Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears 
These prayers are the memory of god
Maybe not in my lifetime, but in yours, I feel sure
I believe in the future, we shall suffer no more

Cabeza from --Paul Simon, Cool, Cool River