How Childhood Ends

My fair lady, don’t you know?  This bridge will never stay.

We’ve built it up a hundred times, and every time it falls.

Now we have no lamp to strike, no flint or tinder box.

Nimble Jack has stolen them to light his jumping candle.

The streets are dark, the children weep, the sheep have lost their way.

Willie Winkie, dressed for bed, is calling out the time.

Tap on every window, a cry to shake the darkness.

He’s heading for the river, he’s sure he knows the way.

But there’s no bridge to hold him.


Willie must surely die.