Lives shroud in dark silence,
lost to oblivion the names,
but forever live the memory
long ago.
The mirror of time, glass unbroken,
so many faces we've come to own,
while the feelings remain the token
of long ago.
Stoic temple, stones stern and cold,
perched high on misty mountaintop,
from where we cloaked ourselves
from the vagaries of life too grim
to behold- long, so long ago.
A lesson from the robins, nightingales
and owls who never shun the trees,
wildflowers who grace the meadows and moors,
the mantes, beetles and bees
unspoken, but purpose not forgotten:
Like a lotus in a stream,
like the magic of a dream,
in the hourglass we are the sand,
as the heart portrays the play
and the mind recalls the day
when life was long ago.
Copyright 2008 Francis Don Daniels
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