Death hangs a long way off. Do I just wait

And pass my youth through to my greying days

In petty pastimes, and misery for ways

Of life I dare not hope to live? My gait

Is twisted and my speech uncouth. I hate

The pity and the distance set around

By those who see and dare not know, so bound

By other’s expectations. Am I too late

To live; to study how to learn; to try

And fail yet seek another way to give,

To gain myself? In this exchange the dry

Desert of my poverty may flower – live

In ways undreamed – and the pain of fading

Hopes will disappear in life’s rich trading.

 

Jonathan Griffith, 1977