There is no future— not for you or me.
   Am I the child that stared into an eye
   Of glass sewed on my teddy bear? Whose cry
Would bring my mother running anxiously?
Am I the boy who hurtled, wild and free,
   Down hills upon a bike— who scored a try
   That won my house the cup we held so high?
No, no and no— for someone else was he.
Both men and women change beyond recall
 From what they were, thank God, to what they are.
    And we, ourselves, from what we were, grow strange—
As Lucifer, awaking from his Fall,
 Stared out upon the prison of a star.
    There is no future— not for they who change.