Yes, she will go in.
Yes, she will go on.
She’ll lose the child’s face she had.
Everything moves on,
Though it wants to stay.
Isn’t it terribly, terribly sad
How all of them, finally, must obey?
The dog on the leash bows its head.
His walk has ended.
Forget where those dreams and smells have been.
The door yawns.
He must go in.
Everyone must say goodbye,
And smile, because they know
Knowing can never, never cry.
We must go on.
Farewell, tree, and childhood, and lawn.
Though some, we see, seem glad,
Because, by some miracle,
They retain a child’s energy,
Primitive and beautiful—
And they never go in
To practice, for hours, the violin—
They, too, are sad, though impish and wild.
Nothing in the world preserves the child.
Isn’t it sad, how we must obey?
The dark landscape protested.
But now, in this hour, it is grey.