Still thinking of those memories.
*The very first day of spring,
The trees looked colorful and festive.
The day when I held your hand,
Sitting on the bench at the park.
Flowers blossoming, birds tweeting,
Children playing gleefully.
A little boy playing his violin joyfully,
Chanting for a handout.
No doubt, no worry,
Beautiful was the day we spent.*
Time flew away,
Only memories were made.
Time is not ours to own.
It cannot be spent,
It just can be squandered and reminisced.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Still thinking of those memories.
*The very first day of spring,
The trees looked colorful and festive.
The day when I held your hand,
Sitting on the bench at the park.
Flowers blossoming, birds tweeting,
Children playing gleefully.
A little boy playing his violin joyfully,
Chanting for a handout.
No doubt, no worry,
Beautiful was the day we spent.*
Time flew away,
Only memories were made.
Time is not ours to own.
It cannot be spent,
It just can be squandered and reminisced.
