February always finds you folding
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Local papers open to the faces
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Passed away to wonder what they’re holding
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In those hands we’re never shown the places
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Formal photographs refuse to mention
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His tiny feet, that birthmark on her knee
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The tyranny of framing our attention
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With all the eyes their eyes no longer see
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And darkness comes too early you won’t find
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The many things you owe these latest dead
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A borrowed book, that check you didn’t sign
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The tools the people live with people love it
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Give what you can to keep to comfort this
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Plain fear you can’t extinguish or dismiss
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-----------------
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(Past-Due)
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| The Weakerthans |
