Will the change come (when it comes),
inevitably, flowing like a river,
cascading over the face of the earth,
a raging torrent, battering down
the citadels of reaction?
Or will it be (if it is to be)
a gradual unfolding, opening like a stream,
slowly, steadily, maybe imperceptibly
making its way homeward
until one morning we awake and we are there?
We live history every day,
but never know its course until it’s run.
But the remaking that our world needs
will at least require all hands to be on deck.
The gentle and the strong, defiant and resilient,
must all find a place to stand and act and hold the line
if this world is to be made new.
There can be no turning back,
unless we would trade our civic soul
for easy baubles and trappings
of an age that is dying;
or unless we would luxuriate
in the dank and brackish waters
of an age already dead.
Our eyes face forward for a reason:
to greet the coming season, and to try
to glimpse some flicker of the future
before it’s here; then we’ll know
if not the total truth of what’s to come,
at least where to stand,
when the glorious winds of change begin to howl.