This was, at first, a try at a meter I've not used before. It turned into this. |
Oh, the whispering sounds of the wind in the glade. I remember that night and the stars overhead As we tried to pretend we were lad and young maid. Not just old and worn out by our day's tangled threads We were young for a time and you kissed me with heat. And my blood for an hour was once more flowing fast. But the passion of youth is a hard thing to keep When you’re old and the time passed you by at the last. Still at least for a minute we had our youth back. For a moment we loved as we had way back then. It was good to recall for a time what we lack Since the clock on the wall keeps on moving towards when. And by when, what I mean is the time sure to come When our hearts and our minds take a rest in the ground. Until “Hark” sounds the trump and the sky fills with One Who has promised that He is our hope once he’s found. Then once more we will be that young lad and young maid. For the old and the weary shall get their relief And we’ll go once again to the whispering glade All it takes is a trust and a faith and belief. November 2007 |