Dreams steal soft thoughts from secret store.
How sad to gaze upon the shore
where once we wandered, long before
the fickle sickle struck shared core.
Like Autumn leaves windfall from trees,
what trace remains? Will memories
of old love linger on Time's breeze
when we're forgotten set of keys?
From secret store dreams steal soft thoughts
the sharing with the love one courts,
caring unchallenged in the courts.
When we're statistical reports,
like leaves from Autumn trees, which fall,
what will remain, when over all
Time lays its winding sheet to call
game, set and match? What will befall?
21 March 1981 Revised 23 May 2005 Previous Title Fond Memories
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem