- The Passing -
Although not hearing ‘twas plainly heard.
The chilling breeze carrying winters word.
Sensed from memory - a passing smell
An approaching end that casts its spell.
A flake on tongue of melting snow.
This illusive taste was once to know.
Of not for looking, however, saw
The passing colors beneath the thaw.
Stretched far with reach but failed to touch
All things going yet yearned so much.
Then Intuition sparked to send
With hope that ‘was’ … could be again.
Copyright © Seeker Shadow | Year Posted 2018