Been following the brooks

winding down the mountain slopes

after voice so clear and known

after visions of the past forlorn.


In the gloaming of the day I rise

and at sunrise I go to sleep

All that’s lost now feels forsaken

buried under rocks and dreams.


Fingers intertwine with mine

the wind is playing the flute

trees laugh and cheer around

Oh, I wonder, is this you?


Is it you who whisper

and call my name at night?

Your presence lingers

when I sit and lonely cry?


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