Peter S. Quinn


On the Wings of the Wind


On the wings of the wind,
As we carry life on;
Leaving memories behind,
From the days we were young.
Glittering on like gold,
All what is now of past;
We can no more on hold,
What is withering fast.
Into deep forgetfulness,
Every day we once knew;
Everything becomes less,
Drifting into sweet blue.
On the wings that can fly,
Far away from all here;
Over mountains too high,
Where the past is not clear.
We can gather old ways,
In the stories we've learned;
But they aren't - same days,
'Cause bridges have burned.

Submitted: Sunday, April 22, 2007
Edited: Wednesday, February 16, 2011
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