They say time is like a river;
Flowing on forever, with not a glance behind.
No second passes taken, but left are remnants within the mind -
For here I walk in a field of dreams, among rose-colored grasses;
Pink-painted petals cascade from trees like amaranth, fancied and eternal -
Soft and silken, they rain like ashes; and they whisper to me sweetly.
Through the haze of time, I hear the voices of the fallen,
And the laughter of bygone days;
This lea lit by vernal skies, it is a lachrymose place -
Beautifully bittersweet, and with life interwoven.