On a windy morning

A gentle breeze wafting by
A picture of everything
Reflected in one's eye
And the windy blow does bring
My bitter-hardened heart to sing
About myriad-frivolous things
And the said breeze does ring
The bells of memory
Chronicler of my life passing by

The Forgotten

The lights of the Road from far away seem
Like jewels from necklaces of forgotten queens
As they lie buried beneath below
Underneath centuries of dust, trod long ago
Who knows what memories they hold
Of lives lived, loved, joys and sorrows untold
What mountainous heights scaled and depths plumbed
What pleasures experienced, temptations succumbed
Their lives lived, in the halls of time placed
Their memory no more but not yet erased
A little flower of joy does spring
A little bird of hope yet sings
Of their wondorous lives lived so long ago
As they lie buried, cold and dark below
And these harbingers are descended from old
Ancestors who sang and flowered in those days of gold
While no men remain alive, of them to sing
Yet in the earth, the rocks, the trees those notes yet ring
Of a time of love and loss and war and shadows
Yet the setting sun in the brightest day glows
And none save birds are left to sing
Beneath the tombs of the Forgotten Kings