Sons of a lost song,
Warriors of a strange cause,
Creating rhythm in the clear view of a facepalm,
And as others walk on,
We keep our soul strong,
Because only everyone else around me knows of the battles I’ve won,

And with a swift look back,
Loyalty,
Nobility,
Honor,
And responsibility,
No room for tomfoolery,

Swords drawn,
Head strong,

Battle cry heard from a far distance,
Certainly there will be enemy resistance,

The dark clouds to the east;
the sunshine to the west;
the gentle breeze that hardly trouble the leaves
and the barely felt drizzle;
They all remind of the day you were born;
it’s like all them weather wanted to be the one to welcome you home!

How did we get here from so very long ago?
Seems like only yesteryear with faces all aglow.
When I was but a girl and you my handsome beau.
We set out towards the future as if we did not know.
The enormity of changes that we would undergo.

We did not know at the beginning of this innocent romance.
One day we would find ourselves with just a backwards glance.
Here at such an ancient age in just this circumstance.
Yearning for our youth now spent, and for a second chance.
The recollection of our passion now seems a perfect dance.

"A SQUEAL IN THE WIND"
Maragaret Ann Waddicor 4th March 2012.

Far out on a limb,
the old rotting limb of a forgotten past,
peppered with sounds and syllables
of sentiments passé in modern minds,
a washed-up-on-the-beach-flotssam
of forgotten dreams,

woven into the sands of the day,
their time too passing every nanosecond,
all soon to be gathered up
and plunged into the deep of the ocean,
watered down to a whispering squeal in the wind,
and never heard of again.