True – we do no longer dance around the fire
In wild abandon, mindless of the smoke
And in the wind we’d fear that we might choke;
The flame got lower as our age grew higher.

Still, we remember how we used to dance
Until the dark and restless night grew old
And when the morning found the ashes cold
We slept upon the pallet of romance;

Some even may remember what we said
And scraps of what we dreamt, naïve and young;
Old hopes that still live on in flames and song
That will no longer please but hurt instead.

And so we try to leave the fire be
And sing those songs no more lest we should find
We’re looking back to days long left behind
In baseless, credulous expectancy.

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