Hours are many, have become so full.
Hardly a minute, a second to breath.
Meaningful moments are so few.
Only memories of what was known, with you,
are all that remain, of a way of life
scattered among the flakes of winter days.
As China, fades upon the waning pages of History
exploring, knowing, experiencing, journeying
upon the waves of new avenues, new adventures.
In hands are the remnants of tear drops
crystalizing into myriads of flakes,
flakes in all their memorable divergences.
B. J. “A ” 2
May 22nd 2016
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2016