Trust there is joy underlying,

Deep under darks I'm applying now.

I will fly out of Corning, over county lines,

Over lakes, over Cortland, from the glass and wines.

And Malcolm Hart, I will leave you drying.

Sisterly eyes will do far more,

More to inform than a charm or two.

So when Jean calls you "boring, and the nose is wrong.

He is stupid and funny. Did it take you long?"

Malcolm Hart, wear protective armor.

But in Malcolm Hart there is color in the blackest dark.

There is meaning in the furrowed brow and scowling.

And for Malcolm Hart, on the nights when his boring eyes would spark,

He'd see crumpled chin, a sobbing mess, he'd join me in my howling.

Rome, on a frigid morning.

Snap to a car engine's warning growl.

It is Jean and her husband so I'm up and through.

What a joy, unexpected, let me look at you.

Oh my word, all the way from Corning.

Jean, you are sweet and clever.

Sure, I remember, but never knew.

So I tear off the wrapping of my painting framed.

And I'm glad and I'm laughing, but I'm so ashamed

of Malcolm Hart, you look sad as ever.

But in Malcolm Hart there is color in the blackest dark.

There is meaning in the furrowed brow and scowling.

And for Malcolm Hart, on the nights when his boring eyes would spark,

He'd see crumpled chin, a sobbing mess, he'd join me in my howling.