A Tale

A tale will be told,
A tale of motherless babies,
left by the wayside,
A tale of joy and utter sadness
A tale refined and forged in the fires of Avalon

A tale of wasted french kisses,
and of hesitant steps into adulthood.
Blind old poets sing in silent harmony,
at the demise of our youth,
that much closer to the creator.

A tale of boys becoming men,
and girls stepping out as women,
An optimistic tale of the demise,
of an era once despised now cherished

The Ashanti drums signal,
The air is thick with anticipation
The aroma of transition pugnant,
Intoxicating, stifling, stuffy even!

A joyous celebration,
declaration of independence,
A tale of weaning babes too soon from their mothers breast.
Unwilling but pushed out

A tale of a parting of ways,
four years of comradery count as nought,
as they step out ripe with anticipation,
to a future ever so uncertain!