Read the play in the spring
Thought a lot about God's role in suffering
And all...all of the millions of times.
I heard the news in July
Had no symptoms, only the reasons why
All...all of those lost, sacred rhymes were lies.
I had imagined it mattered which reasons to use
But winter brought nothing but all the bad news we could bear
Could hardly bear
Heard your voice through the gla**
Felt you standing at every slow street I pa**ed
And then...then I was standing alone.
I strained to think what you said
To remember the last couple lines you read
And grinned...grinned with the grace of a saint
I had imagined the best way to deal with the blow
We stood on the lawn and we sang in the snow
How I wanted God to know
I know how you got old.