Too blind for order, too ordered for chance
They meet in the middle; they dance! they dance!
Too young for the moment, too old for the wait
But deciding between them’s a horrible fate
Too sick for a doctor, too well for the cot
They look at the middle, but see it not
Too breathless for horseplay, too wakeful to rest
They stray from the middle, though both think it best
Too righteous for sackcloth, too sinful for silk
They purge from the middle those not of their ilk
Too loving to kill, but too hateful to heal
They cognize the middle, forgetting to feel
Too rich for the boondocks, too poor for the hill
They stay in the middle and claim to be ill
Too mobile for concrete, too settled for wheels
We oughtn’t be shocked that the middle appeals!
For strangers too cozy, for lovers too far
Does anyone wonder now, just who “They” are?