Forever Young
The gentle April morning showers,
are whispering to the trees and flowers,
of things we loved when we were young;
like songs of love so long unsung.
The years go by but we delay,
to love again without dismay.
We listen but we seldom hear,
the voice of life that is quite clear.
Our heart is now a dying amber,
hoping that we still remember,
to stoke the flame of youth once more,
so that our dreams are not ignored.
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