Sepia ‘Through The Eyes Of The Old’
be it a rose of winter compares
a dew drop tear on the first open eye,
I still dream of ghosts walking the towns,
I am there with them on rich hunting ground
hindsight retraces all we should’ve been,
and still we are waiting, mute to a dream
my hope ponders spirit, in a world left to die,
confide, we do in each other,
tonight we ride alone
all that thrives has lost it’s colour
and life it dries in sepia tone.
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