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To deny the truth is his childlike way to wake up with a smile As the future nears and the past is stowed His facial grin is but denial When he was fresh in that youthful skin his evening prayers were aimed at simple subjects and objects A wounded bird A rainless weekend and even schooling projects Lifetimes later or so it seems he ponders with a notion Something is gone and it could only be that nine year old's devotion The bird is dead and rain is welcome The words to a prayer all but forgotten Alone on the road Through miles of thought An answer was learned and mentally taught The clues came so easy with cactus and sand When the coyotes sang their greeting To this lost and found man