The wind has blown for me a sweet serenade.
A bitter loving song on which my memories would soar.
A silent whisper of the tales I have come to see.
Telling the story behind my scarred vigage.
Like a fine painting that only the painter may see.
A quiet memorial of times now long passed.
Where has the time gone my dear friends?
Has it been so very long since those times came and gone?
Or is it simply that I have become resigned to my loneliness?
Have I become so old now that all I may do is look back and remember?
(To be continued)
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