Andante


Slowly we walk through the trees,
The silence of sleep in the air.
Only the fluttering leaves
Do whisper of anything there.

A stream slides quickly by;
It laughs at all the stones
Who watch it with a sigh,
And each their fate bemoans.

For the stream will forever flow on,
And the leaves will forever renew,
And we'll each go back where we belong
While the stones can but watch us pass through.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem