For Caroline and Dave

In the summer of our salad days, the gods of music set the score,
Life’s autumn would be marked by three times twenty and four.

Standing on that doorstep, over our shoulders we glance,
At all the times shared clothed in laughter, song and dance.

Then, this point seemed so very, very far away,
And yet, from here, shouldn’t there be acres of days in which to play?

Each day if your conductor allows, sing gladly a brand new song,
For sadly life’s malady, proves all of our lives are not long.