Cold, the wind of old
album´s pages, wafting & turning,
Cold, the hand holding
the heart, of errant lost yearning,
Cold, empty long halls,
where old souls softly go treading,
Cold, uncertain minds
of nights, dark & icy long dreading,
Cold, rock upon which
dawn´s first shiny dewdrop glisters,
Cold, wind where sad
secrets, are cruelly & icily whispered,
Cold, tombstone where
forgotten voices, dare & go sighing,
Cold, words unwritten,
upon sepia pages, now faded & dying.
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