The years go by. They set sail.
And we get wiser, but somehow late,
pierce the cold intertwined fingers,
and in the evening, a quiet meek cuckoo, with us.


Then come the memories. They remain.
The evening lilac blooms slowly,
and our gaze, hypnotically true,
sinks into butterfly oblivion.


Eyes closed, we dare not long
to move so as not to drive away
our youthful blue memories...
We stand and the silence cries in silence.