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Post by Senbecc on Oct 30, 2006 11:17:27 GMT -5
I was coming home in the dead of night in a cruel October storm When an old gray man came into sight with his jacket soaked and torn
The mists was time, gray in his hair as I asked where is your home he spoke as if I was not there and his voice was cold as stone...Cold as stone
Twas in that fire of land of mine dear land I'll never see The great church like a ghost stood up and this sun dial spoke to me
It spoke into this soul of mine "this day this day is mine...This day's design"
The bright eyed baby birds and flowers showered sweetness on the spring and in that dark green shade I heard singers of the deep woods sing...
That old sun dial had it's say... This day no other day, no other day...
The players of the playtime pass how swift the seasons turn for what we strive and most may laugh still never yet may learn
The old sundial it still speaks of this day is nearly gone...Nearly gone
The glistens and fallen tears hearts that could not hold their pain seen roaming earth in the mists of years that old sundial speaks again
The tears get lost in the mists of years and this sundial speaks again stern teacher of this heart of mine this day whats lost is gone this day is gone...
My heart is lost in the mists of years it can not hold it's pain That sundial speaks in this soul of mine this day whats lost is gone
...This day is gone.
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Post by lhuebner on Oct 30, 2006 12:09:17 GMT -5
What a terribly sad, yet hauntingly beautiful piece of writing John. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.
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Post by Senbecc on Oct 30, 2006 12:19:24 GMT -5
What a terribly sad, yet hauntingly beautiful piece of writing John. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Twas the sight
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Post by wren on Oct 30, 2006 12:21:09 GMT -5
Sen, you are a poet beyond measure.
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Post by Lady Anastasia on Oct 30, 2006 12:30:43 GMT -5
I'm sorry, I've nothing that I can say
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