An old man has sat by the side of the road
His face bears the lines of the stories he's told
The people he knew, his tales of the North
Words that would wander will settle henceforth:
This color of springtime, he spoke in my ears
Reminds of the dancing in my younger years
When mirth would be made and the girls would align
And with careful footsteps, their ribbons entwine
In moments of courtship the flowers I gave
Kisses neath arbors on which were engraved
The musings of lovers, which fade day by day
In winter, when wanfeather often would stray
The fields of the frst days, the sun shining down
Fierce on our cheeks which would slip into brown
Before all the wonders were all but unmade
Stopping to watch butterflies on parade
There's a tulip now, beneath my view
An acorn beside it, sadly, its true
That winter is hard, and often unkind
One likely will leave, with one left behind
When war drenched the fields with the lives of young men
We saw only after that death makes one yen
For peace to descend, the only mischance
Comes from the moments when tigers will dance.
The guard at last changed, the elders en route
Thus we all leave, I will face resolute
The remainder, and ever consider a list
Of every love that never I've kist.
Poet and Painter, and which was the better?
One would dazzle towards bed, but the other
Would keep you there ever, hide and seek earthward
The trees in your orchard stretch always onward.
Oh dancer, recall, when we knew eros
As long as you can, keep these memories close
We know but a moment, loves fades with my heart
The acorn is leaving the tulip apart.
