How words do appear,

give me a sort of lovely hope.

Even if my own imagination,

the notion exists that someone

would be near in a spiritual

kind of lullaby.

Its soft texture is attractive to the eye.

Words are dancing in galleries

of quiet recall, holding court

with a secluded memory.

Likely in our heart is a yearning

for a sweeter time,

when love did live within

our moments of passion.

Fleeting conclusions cross my mind,

when once I felt we’d always know.