Yes I do remember these shadows.
Ten summers have baked away their marks,
long marks they cast on timeless walls.
Ten rains have washed them out,
washed out the the paths they once tread.
Ten autumns blew away the leaves,
leaves that grew under their tepid palms.
Ten winters stretched and tore them apart,
tore them into a heap of anonymity.
Ten summers have baked away their marks,
long marks they cast on timeless walls.
Ten rains have washed them out,
washed out the the paths they once tread.
Ten autumns blew away the leaves,
leaves that grew under their tepid palms.
Ten winters stretched and tore them apart,
tore them into a heap of anonymity.
Yes, I do remember these shadows,
Long cast and long gone, they bemuse me,
bemuse me with their strange cognizance.
Like trickling drops of rain they do not yield
do not yield and drench me in their darkness.
They chatter in my reticent dreams,
dreams both vague and vivid, warm and bleak.
I remember the times when our paths did cross,
cross, but did soon swerve and veer away.
For shadows are solitary travellers, I grieve,
grieve not, for so soon I lost your sight,
I grieve as I harrow over your footprints.
Yes, I do remember these shadows.
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