What's Left Behind
Out in December the snow lined hills echo memories...
By the creek the wooden bench holds tender stories...
Where once two lovers laughed and dreamed...
The landscape now has flowed into a rapid stream...
I sit cold with my hands folded as if the air knows how I felt...
Staring out to where we made snow angels until we would finally melt...
A small tear,not from the cold starts to form in my eyes...
And off I walk back to today where the chill can only hide...
A place now tucked away where it can stay warm and mine...
But left to only guess if it was only me left behind...
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