Note that many Seasons have turn,
As second hand sticks, have grown dizzy,
Stuck in time.
And now, there are lines plowed,
At the corner of Trade and Main,
They once were paved .
Now cracked by millions of smiles.
Also, a few tears.
We’ve both gathered flames, since last we spoke.
But somehow, those flames,
Lost their dance on the crowded plateaus.
Oh, time, that fiendish mute!
Stalking, stealing, and brands me a slave as I continue my wait.
You must have missed your train?
Maybe from the cracked streets?
Or maybe time, stole you away.
But for me, as I tell it now:
You are never forgotten.
How could you be?
Even in edges of thoughts,
Though they might have developed sepia and yellow,
I will always think of you on this day.
This is the day.
These are the memories.
And I will crack another street remembering.