Fermenting Time Poem by Sonya Annita Song

Tread lightly on my broken wings,
Now pitiful but once were proud;
Speak softly to my cobwebbed lips,
Now buttoned-up but once were loud.

Sing gently to my crippled feet
Now hobbling on uneven ground;
Hold firmly to my troubled hands
Now trembling as I look around.

And whisper of the dreams I touched
With wings that dared to fly so high
And whisper of the songs I sung
With lips that beckoned forth the sky

And how I danced with nimble feet
And painted sunsets near divine,
And how the years have not been lost
But fermented like precious wine.