It’s not until you make the time, the space
to gather with your loved ones round the fire,
to call a truce on habit, to retire
the woes that come with keeping up the pace,

It’s not until you notice wayward clouds
unravel to reveal a glowing star
or half-lit souls, the sound of a guitar
delightfully replace the noise of crowds,

It’s not until they rise, your adult offspring
to dance in line and merrily proceed
to learn the steps, to bow, advance, recede
and clap and twist, unable to stop laughing,

That you may seize the object of all strife
and stare at it: the meaning of our life.