Dear Old Friend


Dear Old Friend


We laughed in a field of blue,
yellow rays streaking grey lights.
The light streaks laying paths of gold
in our way, for spring's breath to
awaken the scent of new blooms.

Now, passing time dims
the gold streaks of day, and
makes hollow the soul-filled laughter.
Light blue becomes dark night when,
at the twelfth hour, light grey turns to white light.

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