That Passing Song
That Passing Song
Where once we walked this street of gold
And felt those winds on our sheltered bones.
It was the aging rose through early morn
By noon, where did it go?
Yet be still my child and sing your song
For but a moment, then be gone;
While our memories yet alike
Where as that passing song
Now the morning breeze long past
Seems as a rose at last,
When hither came a scent of fall
Then gone be this, too fast
By M.Norton
marklnorton@shaw.ca
Copyright © Mark Norton | Year Posted 2011
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