The kitchen will be used.
The pantry will be emptied
and then promptly refilled.
My pillow will be creased,
and my sheets will be wrinkled.
The sun will be seen
in the early morning when I wake.
The fallen tree will be heard,
and new children will play on it.
The old fort will stay broken,
I am no longer young to pretend.
I can no longer pretend to be young.
The deer will frolic in my yard,
but the Buck will not return.
Before, I needed Him, a Sign.
Now, I am the Buck.
I am my sign of change
and my creation of hope,
because in the long run
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