The veil of youth is a door,
or many doors where summer
flourished all year in warmth.
Games were fields of testing
strength and speed, fight and spit.
We possessed joints of steel and
muscles with stretch;
no mountain was too great.
Arms were machines and legs
springboards. The soul laughed at
death and scorned at storms.
We were buildings. Engines in
sneakers. Boilers for chests. The
seasons pushed through with little affect.
Youth we thought, was the armor to
Defeat time.
Roger Singer 