Plus tard, il sera trop tard

Plus tard, il sera trop tard.

Later it will be too late 

To be in awe 

of another perfect sunrise.

To say good morning to the birds 

diligently eating at the backyard feeders.

Later it will be too late

To find the rocky footholds on a mountain 

that reaches towards a perfectly blue sky, 

To ride a bike alongside a farmer’s field 

laid out under puffy white clouds.

Plus tard, il sera trop tard

To blow goodbye kisses to a little face 

peering out the car window. 

To look deeply into the eyes of the future 

as they nod off to sleep in my arms.

Notre vie, c’est maintenant.

Our life, it is now.

The now of quiet songs, and even quieter prayers

Of  you and me raising a glass to a tranquil evening.

Of the people we claim to be ours, 

filling space and time with laughter and love.

Our life, it is now.

The now of chaos and confusion, 

of division and despair

Constantly peddled to a worried world.

Notre vie, c’est maintenant

It is a yes this, and yet also that 

The now of deceit and doubt

Swirling in the background of fragile life fiercely lived.

We focus the lens most days on hope

Gratitude before sadness

Grace before despair

Love before the clock marks its final hour

Because time is a thief and 

Plus tard, il sera trop tard.