Long ago and far away
When a tree was my friend
And the wind my playmate
I followed frivolity hither and yon
And never once wondered how long I’d be young.
Over the rivers and cities and moors,
Up the down staircase,
Across bare wooden floors,
I carried my babies and sang them to soothe,
I counted red apples, made rhymes, Stories too.
But none were as fine as the ones that weren’t mine
But belonged to the sea, the skies and to time.
Now I am silent as I sit in the shade, at one with the music being unmade