Whistling Tune
Half-faded memories, they flutter round the bed
Like butterflies over the garden flowers
How come that I’m living to forget
While it seems worth to save the happy hours?
Why did they disappear rather soon
Don’t ask, there is no answer I can share
All efforts drown in a merry whistling tune
That plays until I fall asleep in my armchair
And through the darkened glass I see the land
I've never walked upon and I won’t do
But where were you, the one, who understands?
Sounds rhetorical, though I didn’t mean it to…
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