of the days gone by
like fallen yellow leaves,
testimony of a better day,
covering the earth in decay and death.
Yet the splendid Spring has passed
with its golden days and silver nights,
with its warm fragrant breeze,
with its mirth and funfilled hours.
Now no bird greets the weary traveller,
nor do the streams offer refreshing life.
when I look back,
through misty memory lanes;
when I peer onto the yellowed pages of my mind,
Old memories conjure up like phantoms
and like ghosts haunt me.
Ah, but alas it is past.
Yet those dead days,
in the deepest recesses of my heart,
deep, dark, dormant.
Perhaps waiting for some future day,
when recalled and resurrected,
those fuzzy flimsy phantoms
might taste of life once more.
(Images are the properties of their respectives hosts)