Moonbeams across the silent sea,
silvery mist glides through
the woody valley in my memory,
to the house where I met you.

You climb the rotting stairs today,
with heavy wooden shoes,
I can hear crows fly far away
cawing those timeless dues.

Lonely laughter in an empty room,
cobwebs sighing in the wind,
back in time to wake and gloom,
and aging hands that always….. thinned.

by Michael Henrik Wynn

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