sounding off the far mountain wall,
bouncing back quieter and softer.
more beautiful with each fainter repetition
and more sad too, the original brightness fading and slowly dying
quieter, quieter, quieter til we're not sure which one was last and which one sounded only in our heads.
and maybe the last one, the one we imagine we hear.
Maybe it's the only real one.
Oh, how many messages, how many echoes can be read into this softly, exquisitely penned, pensive piece.... you're talented and I look forward to reading more. t x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent indeed......10