I stood atop the hill one last time,
Looked down the vale,
I once belonged.
All the banter.
All those memories.
All the things left behind.
Will the walls contain my secrets?
Will the earth cleanse my footprints?
Will the stars remember my thoughts?
Will the foggy glass scrub my words?
No more the rustle.
No more their whispers.
No more the tears.
No more the cheers.
The hills and valleys,
I once called my home,
No more will they know my name.
I'm just a memory.
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©ShilpaMallya2016, TheDishevelledWriter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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