The light breeze brushing the skin,
Eyes staring out the window at nothing,
The hum of the city that is a hum no more,
The ears escaped to seek sounds of shores,
There is no noise in the thoughts that came,
A remark on the irony of time is made,
The pictures are old, faces in them are young,
A wonder as to whom those faces now belong,
As the piano plays the eyes see a montage,
Tears find their way across a cheek,
Echoes heard from memories gone,
Wishes are made to return to the past.
Today will be a memory again,
May be full of hope, or of regret,
Arms searching to hold them,
Hands wanting to make the future,
The mind a fallen leader with wisdom.
Happiness is sought, had less often,
Some understood it was not to be found,
But accepted.