I have met you
a thousand times before.
Through vales of tears
and orbs of change.
You cannot hear me speak,
or see my transplanted worth.
And slowly, you sink out of sight.
A slow vapour, rising in the sky,
and scarcely remembered.
Hands of time
I have met you
a thousand times before.
Through vales of tears
and orbs of change.
You cannot hear me speak,
or see my transplanted worth.
And slowly, you sink out of sight.
A slow vapour, rising in the sky,
and scarcely remembered.
A Wandering Poet 