You cut your hair. You drink your coffee black.
You read bad poetry. You don't look back,
Or promise not to, at the other you:
The one you only yesterday outgrew,
The one you buried with a strict resolve,
The one you poisoned with a pearl dissolved
In sweetest daisy-juice, the one whose eyes
Were so unlike yours and so sadly wise
(But you've since cast off wisdom in the name
Of swiftness and desire). You're not to blame,
And, after all, it's good to grow and flower.
But nothing leafed or petaled has the power
To bloom and thrive and rainbow all year long,
So why should you? Fool, sing your foolish song,
But daily murder must grow tedious,
And reinvention waxes treacherous.
When winter takes your violent hand in his,
Be like the vine, the ivy. All that is
One day will not be. What I mean to say
Is this: try being changeless for a day.