Τρίτη, 9 Απριλίου 2013

The Pastel Year



The clouds are travelling now
On a journey way afar from me
The song of the morning bird has ceased
Lest my memory would too

There are no longer tears to be shed
For withered skin has melted into ice

It was dark that day
When the clouds bowed to your call
The bench felt so cold
After the cruel goodbye

Now the lemon tree stands alone
The seasons beat it without care
Its smiles grow weary
Not letting go, it won’t let them go

The lesson was hard
The grey skies melted into pastel
And the Angel starts floating again.