The trees in the valley far down remains to the viewer's eyes green,
she came back cleaving the hills of dead leaves, blocking the way
her songs vibrant,indeed like it was in a  time long past,hard to forget,

One is in for wonders if the time travel is done mindful,dispassionate,
life is a garden full of strange flowers, bloomed at various times ,
standing still, magically fresh, all along ready to be plucked at  will,

But one easily falls to corruption, blinded are the eyes of the fallen,
this is a  game, playing the role alone matters,nothing else elevates,
don't forget, flowing with the current alone ,takes the drop to the ocean.

She came back, I suppose to complete the circle of illusion,we are in
nevertheless the imaginary places she scented,still cause me an elation.