Truth is hard to find – the years ahead, the years behind,
Yet find it we do – in snatches – on days that go by:
On days when nothing is decided,
On throw-away days such as these:
Smells and bells, and all the frumpery of lawns.
Children connect us to the truth: goblins and elves
Fairy tale worlds without end
Now elude us
Metaphors are not fit to give it shape
Nor are the big words
That frighten us so.
The whole edifice of 'reality' crumbles
With all its contrary implications
Leaves us silent,
Staring at a world that's out of reach.