There are things which must eventually go away from me,
And necessarily so: some things give us strength
In their leaving: the shadow that crept upon you in a fog
Evaporates into sunlight, and suddenly you know where you stand.
One by one, all my little fondnesses come crashing down around me
And I step gently over these shards
Which were my hope and my faith, and I find
That these two things were broken out of boys like that,
Out of men like you. I find you are not quite so essential
As you would like to believe yourself.
I find I could do better without you at all.
Now it doesn't matter that the dream will never be real,
Thank G-d! I should be grey by the time it was done.
No, I shall content myself with dreams of other things
Immeasurably more beautiful and more kind than you.
It would be too transparent of me to whisper
Of gold-headed idols whose feet were made of clay,
But there it is, a fraction too late to retract.
Copyright, Andrew Graf von Rothberg
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