Remembering the time of our youths,
once lost, now golden forever. Soft
like the rain that strokes the gentle land
in streams of love and gratitude.
Watching the wisps of powdererd age
grow weary and slow with wondering.
Searching eyes of mystery flow through
the memories of years to come, and wash the
stained horizon of our youths.
I think this is a beautiful poem. It was written by my sister, she is beautiful and very talented. I hope that one day I may live to be like her. Although, sometimes we have disagreements; there is nobody, other than God, that I would turn to before I turned to her.
We have shared so much together and we share the same memories, making us smile, laugh and cry.
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