Reflected Memories

Reflected memories Blast the words of conceptions past Lost to time and place, Blast the thoughts when memories fade Into our sadder days, For came a horse, its saddle turned Carrying a fragment of our dreams, And softly blows a bugles call Then slowly slips away Blast the silence, no voices call In the sounds that we conceive, And blast the hope as visions die When we consider images perceived; But slowly rolls this wheeled cart Past one child’s lost salute, While listen I the mournful cry That slowly slips away Blast the mystery to question why Our memories fade with time, Blast the sound of a bugles call On that warm November day, Yet now is held the twilights light, Over flames that never die, And quiet sound the winds of fait That slowly slips away (In Memory of JFK) By m.norton. marklnorton@shaw.ca