THE LINGERING LIGHT
Instinct draws the moth to the light,
But if man were a moth,
He might take to the night.
Why is one a hider
And another a searcher?
Is it nature?
Is it nurture?
Is it some sort of mixture?
In the days of lingering light
Some still follow the true and right.
Others give way as darkness grows,
As goodness ebbs and evils flows.
A Viet Nam vet sits by the side of the road,
Legs crossed, with a soggy cardboard sign,
His world in a bicycle basket.
A car splashes him with water,
Sizing him up for a cheap pine casket.
The next car tosses a five his way,
But what he really wants
Is for someone to say
Thank you for fighting our fight
In those jungle days of The Lingering Light.
