....another old one...
The pages of my life lie all around,
In random heapings blown about the floor.
The storm is still. The memories on the ground
Are blurred from beating rain and wind that tore.
I pick them up and try to smooth each page,
And falling tears make dimples like the rain.
Why do I cry? I feel no pain, no rage.
Right now I'm happier than I have been.
High in the storm's eye, peace caresses me.
The fall will come. Of that I do not think,
Lest I should walk with Peter on the sea,
And look upon my frailty, and sink.