How distant look our lives before,

When future fortunes seemed so sure,

When months remained for closing words

And farewell seemed still far from shore.

But parting came like thunderbirds

That stooped from black in bawling herds

To rob from us the final bow

And wrench us from the spring.

So distant look us exiles now,

So dismal as with furrowed brow

We guess what lies in future haze

And at the present, wonder how.