The pages of yesteryears washed away by the stream,
Leaving behind an immaculate dream;
A capricious breeze that turned to storm,
As I gulped down the moonshine against the norm.
The rain song and the little girl’s scream,
The ride up the hills collecting their ream;
Through darkness waiting for the break of dawn,
Just to watch another day being born.
As I walked back to my recluse, a mezzanine,
The silence was broken by an approaching machine;
I watched her pass, so vulnerable and frail,
Hopes that I buried as I followed her trail.
The mushrooms sprouted after the rain,
The things that we did so human yet insane.
We set out to sail with a common dream,
Together with the pages till the end of the stream.