It was the summer of 1983 and eight-year-old Danny Brown was having a terrible time. A shy and serious only child, he had recently been forced to move with his parents and, as far as he was ... [+]
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.