The Turning of the Hands

In the flow of winding rivers
as they whisper to the sea
the sighs of seasons past
keep you ever close to me

and when the way is weary,
when roads run to twists and bends,
in the pale glow of moonlight
we will meet when journey ends.

If time moves much too slowly,
then dreams move much too fast
and in the turning of the hands,
there we shall meet at last.

4 thoughts on “The Turning of the Hands

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