A gentle breeze strokes my face on a warm summer evening, reminding me at once of a memory and the flick of your hair tied with white satin lace, It was as real as if I had been touched gently by a ghost, sending a shiver through my soul by the presence of a loving host, time changing as I step through the Bermuda Triangle, I am once again ambling slowly, there are children laughing at my fragility, for I am old and still very much alone.
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I Canna See’
Canna see the light shining past yer heed or the shadow where yer are when yer lie deed canna see the sparra in the field of gold nay’ or se...
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