He walked into the garden to pray
And under the hardened, gnarled tree
Felt silver light in the night of the day
And wondered how long it would be.
His eyes moved upward to the moon
How very far away it all seems
Would he really be going there soon
To fulfill some other man’s dreams?
Gathering in his robe to answer the chill
A sleeve to catch the tears he wept
Not understanding the force of that will
Which promises that promises will be kept.
David A. Petreman