To slip into the sum of parts! A joy.
A young ensemble for the rainy day,
It needn't need so much to be an art,
But harmony in double sense I'd say,

I always thought it'd be so technical,
And tamed through years and years of mastery,
Perhaps it calls out little more
Than play and purest artistry.

Estranged from myself when looking in my face,
I hardly see a boy now his memory is faint,
Perhaps he came much of... whatever looks like me,
But I cant seem to find the continuity,
For memory turns faint when gazing in my face,
Perhaps I'll see one day when I've finished this long race:
My Lord and all my ways within His eyes.

An incense stick of time,
Walks out the space between,
These moments their becoming,
These passing turns of things,
Play out a snatching tune,
Walk out the space between,
Instantiate the time until
The next is soon becoming.

Hush my child,
There will be time,
To play before we set off,
I know the hands and command the face,
The time won't slip out of my grasp,
There will be time, my dear,
So don't worry little warrior of mine,
I'll tell you when there's time no more,
And where and when its best to step,
When sleepy legs are bound to bend,
And the playing is unfinished still.