If we were young men,
if we were strong
If we had fresh words,
to add to our song
If we were soldiers,
with war in our veins
If we were poets,
our voices reclaimed
If we were lovers,
of women that cried
If we went wandering,
our hearts reapplied
If we were statesmen,
the world in our grasp
If we were sailors,
the wind at our backs
If we were farmers,
with meadows so green
If we were actors,
on stages supreme
If we were hunters,
new wolf on the prowl
If we were dreamers,
all wishes allowed
If we were young men,
still facing the sun
But alas, we are old
—and darkness has come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)