What hope thought real and dreams made bliss,
the day in fleeting retrospect did miss.
Shuttling by a conveyance teased,
imagination welcomed what deceived.
Sooner is the better fate of memory faded,
for disappointed prospects leave the soul but jaded.
Still, something whispers shallow from within,
light yet shines where all is dim.
Nothing's left but faint impressions of the past,
nothing's now but a longed for past.
Simple rhymes piled one atop the other,
multiplied, as babes begot by love's dear mother.
Flesh stilled by a trouble of its own,
while trust emerges where seeds were silent sown.
The dawn will in its ordered course renew,
ardor's yearn like e'er returning dew.
Read more articles by Tim Rake or search for articles on the same topic or others.
