Those years of our times.

The realisation dawned with the gentle swathe of a cool summer morning

Fond thoughts of you and those warm images no longer fills my mind

Memories of yester years and the yearnings of tender lingering swooning

That once rode on every beat of my pacing heart now seem hard to find

Whilst in the depth of me a silence carries a lament chilling with mourning

The years have their stories to tell but stilted performances is not living

Neither are the smiles that hide behind deceits so cold and unkind

We walked the jagged path but your voice sought kinship with axes striking

And when you offered water your eyes showed you had gone blind

Unable to see a soul holding for you nothing but a brimful of loving

Someday somewhere the brightness dims and chimes will be ringing

The late harvest will arrive floating in a wake of unforgiving wind

In your palm the rosy red apple of the past is now bitter and shrivelling

Its a tale told a million times so lets know the scribe not be fined

While the sages ask, what price is truth and harmony for a state of being