As little Ben lay down to sleep,
sinking into his soft bed,
The night air brought with it
a sweet fragrance on it's wings
to lull him into sweet dreams.

His father coming to tuck him in,
Said Ben:"Daddy,why is it
that the sweet Night with
the pretty Moon and little Stars
does not last long?"

Replied his dad:"Because Ben,
then the Day would be sad.
And the Sun would pout.
And the Night only comes to help
the Nature prepare for Tomorrow"

Thinking about it,said Ben:
"But what if Day gets sick?
And the Sun takes a holiday?
What would happen then,
If Tomorrow never comes?"

Ponderously,said his dad:
"If Tomorrow comes,
there would be no end
to the Dark and his secrets,
No stopping Cold's mischiefs.

The Moon will walk away,
and Stars may be shrouded,
No more will there be Light
to show us the way
and drive away the fears.

No more will the Mist flee
but will snare us into her net,
to get us lost in her depths.
No end to the bad dreams,
No more warm rays of comfort.

No more Dew's pearls on leaves,
No more the sweet chirping
of the silly birds in the trees.
No Sun for the flowers to greet,
No Dawn to make them sing.

No more the frenzy of the bees,
No more the races of butterflies.
Nor the games of the rabbits.
No more prancing of the does.
Only the hooting of the owls.

Never again will the rain seem fiery,
Or the rivers golden.
No more rainbows in the sky.
No more the dancing of colours.
No beauty in the Nature to see.

No Joy to look forward to,
No Hope to wake up to,
Relinquishing hold on our dreams,
Desires and wishes unfulfilled,
We will slip into Death's slumber."

Realising Ben had fallen asleep,
his father got up from the bed,
turned off the light
and silently went to his room,
thinking all the way.

Unaware of the grave thoughts
his question aroused in his father,
Little Ben slept on,dreaming:
"If Tomorrow never comes,
There won't be no school no more."

In a village overlooking the sea,
so beautiful and so serene,
with fine cottages and finer folk,
there is,as in any other place,
A Memorial Park housing the dead and beloved.

I stand in a corner of the Yard,
upon my plinth frozen forever.
I,the stony likeness of a fairy
long gone and forgotten;
A cold guardian of the cold beds.

Like to a fair girl with sweet smile I am
tender hands clasped gently,
resting against my flowing silver dress.
A blue bow adorns my tresses,
A pair of graceful wings,my frame.

Many a person I saw buried here
and many a eulogy I've heard.
Many regrets and tears.
Cries of loneliness and fear.
Year after year after year.

At my feet lie two graves,
Of a man and of his wife.
Young they departed life,
Parted from their darling child,
giving her their memories to live by.

The girl used to sit on the turf
beside their tombs
gazing out over the sea at the sunset,
Me keeping her company
and the Wind wiping her tears.

Every day of every season
she used to come and see them.
To sit by them and talk to them.
To tell them everything in her life.
And I used to listen to her.

I listened to her speak of her friends.
Of their many mischiefs
and adventures in the village,
of their jokes and laughs.
And I used to laugh with her.

She spoke to them of her being alone
amidst all these joys.
Of her fears and toils.
Her wish to have them both back.
And I used to pity her.

New graves were dug,
New tenants came,
And new tombs were built.
Still the girl came
Never missing a day.

She talked to me,the only thing there
with a semblance of life.
"Oh,you are so beautiful!"
she used to tell me,
And I wanted to tell her the same.

"If only I'd wings like yours",she said,
"I would fly over the fields
gliding lightly over the grass.
I would fly above the trees,
chasing the happy birds.

I'd race the dolphins in the sea,
Skim over the fluffy clouds in the sky,
Touch the stars in the night
And reach my parents in the Light.
And I would be free."

The cemetery knew no familiar voice but hers.
The path,no familiar step but hers.
She used to walk among the tombs,
laying wreaths upon those forgotten
And praying for those who forgot them.

She used to say to me,
"How sad it is for them
Who are forgotten and have
None to remember them
And nothing to be remembered by!"

Then came a day when I didn't see her.
And another day went by.
Now I see a grave being dug
By the side of her parents' and I knew,
That she has gotten her wings at last.

I see them carrying her hither,
No faithful friend to weep for her.
No heart breaking to see her
go in her death to where
she used to be in life.

If only I had tears,
I would have shed them.
Shed them for all her pain.
For all the fears she went through.
For all the loneliness she had to endure.

If only my heart weren't frozen,
I would have wanted it to beat,
To feel heavy with sorrow.
For her,I want to come to life,
If only to lament her death and freeze again.

They fill her grave with dirt.
They build a tomb on it and leave.
No wreaths wasted upon it..
No wreaths will there be.
No familiar voice or step.

New graves are dug,
New tenants have come,
And new tombs are built.
Still I stand here over her's...
It is not sad,for I will remember her.

As far as the eye can see,
stretch on the Sky and the Sea,
hoping to meet and merge as one,
maybe..Beyond The Horizon.

I stand upon the shore,
hearing the waters roar,
feeling the wind ruffle my hair,
and seeing the Sun return to his lair.

But my thoughts were elsewhere,
With those for whom I did care,
Gone never to return.
To forget them,I have yet to learn.

All those laughs and smiles,where did they go?
Where is the peace and the warm glow?
More silent seems the world now,
as age tells it's tale upon my brow.

A mother's kiss,a father's shoulder,
forgotten and replaced as I grew older,
by a wife's loving embrace,
and a daughter's beauteous face.

Love leaves behind a smoldering pain,
as memories alone bring them to life again.
But where now is their love for me?
No more tangible,where did it flee?

Just beyond reach or maybe not?
Could reach it if I sought,
Maybe,beyond the setting sun..
Maybe,Beyond The Horizon...

On a dull day...
With the sun hidden behind dark shrouds,
his light unable to find a way
through the rain-laden clouds,

As I lay on the bed,
staring out through my window,
Into bright alleys my memory led
my wearied gaze which that dreary picture does endow.

I was walking down the street,
on a pleasant Winter morning.
And quick did trod my feet,
For,for one special company was my heart yearning.

I came to the Fountain,
For me,a dear site.
A place I would dream of,time and again,
till my eyes can see no more the light.

As I came nearer to the place,
I descried my friend,waving at me
to come,with a smile on his face,
to where became friends we.

We talked and talked,
On and on and on,
even of the grass on which we walked.
The end of the dialogue was never anon.

The Fountain would find us there,
on a serene Summer even.
Having escaped from the sun's glare,
lying on the grass and gazing up at the heaven.

On a Rainy afternoon,
he would welcome us with an 'overflowing' joy.
He would leap and fall,gay as a goon,
And would drown us twain with this playful ploy.

We grew,
and with us grew our friendship.
The Time with his webs drew,
our hearts into brotherly companionship...

Then came a day of Spring.
And at the fountain were we yet again.
With the gurgling sound the glade did ring,
but numb were our souls with pain.

The time came for us to part,
to pursue each,his own dream.
We were afraid lest we be torn apart,
tossed by Life's fateful stream.

We vowed never to forget,one the other.
And carved our names on the heart of our weeping 'friend'.
With a heavy heart I embraced my brother
and we walked away,hoping our paths would again together blend...

A clap of thunder,
startled me into the present.
Hoping for another clap to rent the grief asunder,
got up and to the window I went.

I saw a downpour,which promised not soon to wane,
fall out of skies bleak.
Saw drops of water trickling down the window pane,
Felt the tears running down my cheek...

A beautiful Autumn day with a tranquil breeze,
found the Fountain,silent and lonesome now,
waiting for his friends without cease,
preserving the carvings in his heart with love...

Unknown to his friends,the second of the twain
is where one could never weep.
The friends do wait in vain,
for,blanketed is he,from mortal pain,by the golden flowers,warming him in his last sleep...