Old Photographs

November 21, 2018


Stories fragile,forgotten,
which the molten skies have woven
Fade into the ancient doodles of time.
Stories scattered in the magic human sand blur into memories, 
Of a vagabond dancing beneath the trees
A mellow evening breeze is swallowing me up,
And I am locked in a rusty caravan of trodden old photographs.
A tinkle of smile, a sprinkle of tear,
When the evening's dark with no star to steer,
And fireflies on my hand,
Weave me a dream of a starry garland.
Then I start dancing to  the tunes I've been singing 
Unless I find from what I was running.


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  • November 21, 2018 - 1:02pm (Now Viewing)

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