He sits on the brim of a New Era,
Legs lackadaisically kicking in the wind,
He’s worn many hats in his life thus far,
And now the seasons change again.
For every flow an ebbing tide,
Every opportunity a temptation,
Pressure from peers pulling asunder,
But impulse is simply impatience.
He steels his mind for that moment in time,
When his parade goes marching on,
The Oriole flies north for Summer,
And once he goes he’s simply gone.
“This is not goodbye,” He says
“Save your waves and valedictions.”
Fore every page was made to turn,
Every era made for ending.
