Pressed between the pages
Of a novel never read,
Were some faded flow’rs picked in the spring
When love was at its head.  Saved
To capture memories,
(Like the flowers, faded now,)
And yet I smell the springtime,
And I feel the warmth somehow.
For first loves live eternal,
And though faded, stay quite real
Months and years and decades
Are time enough to heal.

The tears that fell upon our cheeks,
Like the flowers now are dry,
Now the sun is shining brightly
In a clear blue springtime sky,
New lovers pick new flowers
And store them fast away,
Pressed between the pages,
To remind them of the day,
When love was more than memory
Like the lovers, life was young
And the days were all in front of them
Their song yet to be sung,
pwl 3/9/16