Our Song

A shadow – a tear
a sigh caught on glass
the flutter of wings.
Be still – for I heard something
that reminded me
and must have been –
our song.

Evening. Night. Whispers on the terrace
over the glowing tip
of a cigarette
I can’t see the wind
but I can hear the leaves rustle –
and there –
it must be!
They’re playing our song

Ssh… don’t cry –
because it had to be

long ago – the moon was shining
our song being played far away.

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