I spoke aloud the memory of each word
My heart had heard.
The scent of pines was heavy in the noon,
The air most happy with the song of streams,
Above the forest hung an early moon,
But I was gazing at my perished dreams,
And in that moment, while my soul was brave,
I dug their grave.
I folded each within a golden shroud,
Torn from the shining garments of my youth,