If the sound that gets made with each going awaynWere to lean on my knuckles to comenThen all the spinning about making moths in my mouthnLike a hymn from the heavens would humnnBabies sweet on the floor ever calling for morenEver tasting their flight on their tonguesnSee them roll on the ground with their bellies so roundnKnow they're bound to keep rolling alongnnAnd Mrs. Juliette low sings so pretty and slownSinging 'boy ain't you going so wrong?nIf your voice is to pray and your legs is to staynThen where you been going so long?'nnYet still the light likes to fade at the end of each daynAnd it shines like a curtain of glassnOnto some state of grace where her movements takes placenAin't we always so going so fastnnIn the chill of some gray afternoonnIn the still fading light of my roomnI'll be aching to saynLover don't go awaynAnd we will not go away