Another year has come to past, and I'm still chasing shadows, of long ago, and far away. As fine spun spider webbing, yesterday clings, always and forever part of me. I wear your memory as a cloak, warmed by it on winter's eve. Come the spring, I'll walk the river's banks. Hand in hand with questions that have no answers. You had been a story to be told, but death had silenced it. Yet I listen to the part that was, whispered on the wind. And as the flowers bloom, and colours breath again, through the woods I'll hike. And once again, I'll repeat the tales and the lore, of fairie folk, and elfen kings, to a child who is no more. As the air turns colder, and the leaves catch autumnal fire, I'll place another candle, in memory of you. And wonder if you know I still think of you.
