the worm may be caught,
but the suns ever-dying shadow,
oblivious to its own intentions,
pursues the horizon

who knows the cry,
of new frontiers, faded to grey,
the distant echos, impossible to ignore,
silence prevails; the **** crows

for the laughter of a child,
or the memories of stories told,
will fade with horizons,
illusive to the eye

for he who once remembers,
the harvest of limes and of lemons,
the words of wisdom already spoken,
the past seeks to forget