Poezja

The wind whispers as I search…
The tree hums your names with me…
Time itself is worried…
Them that touched my heart,
Where are they?

Swift as a wind song, we sang the music of an honest bird…
They wandered lonesome as a cloud,
Yet they are my dearest friends.
We were led by one path, but now we’ve carved our different paths.
On the soggy mud I cast my foot, but theirs casted on my heart.

The rhythms of yester years has wilted,
Yet the memories are crisp.
We sound as we were made,
Yet we’re remembered as we sound.
Them that touched my heart,
Where are they?