Oh how my lovely weathered memories are scattered across the floor.
How they come rushing through as I sit and ponder.
What will the winds of time bring past my door?
Please send another on your way through my town, so I can remember another alike.
How does the sky sleep when there are leaves to bring into the house where home was?
I am begging for your answer, while my sister and I are holding out for another sign.
Oh we’re holding out until we are sick of the cold days and nights.
Until we are weary of the names and faces that we have once known to be.
Until the wind dies and all is cast into the flame of what once was.
So I sit alone. I wait for the sky to sleep and my sister’s leaves to blow through, although they will never come again,