The leaves whisper of decay,
While the birds wither away.
Dying with them, the final notes
Of a song borne in their throats.
And we will leave together,
Through the gates which lock forever,
While Death dreams of the morrow
Where we one day shall go
To meet again beneath a sun unknown
Where the birds, in song, have flown.
Below that star, that unknown sun
Earth and silence shall be one.
The past will dream long before
We look upon the lives of yore.
The skies will wander that terrain
Until tomorrows rise again
Deep where our selves are under the stare
Of the shadows waiting there.
In this burning pain of years gone by,
I have forgotten we too must die
In the prison of our memories
Of the birds that sang within the trees.
© 2021 Marten Hoyle