A boy, like a statue, alone in a meadow in the sun,
Watching and waiting for the first signs of laughter to come.
And then, in a moment, across the waving grass on the breeze
A murmur of memory, remembering the morning of the trees.
He knows about the strangeness, the ever changing colours in the sky,
And he smiles in understanding: he doesn’t need to think or wonder why.
He knows it’s because he’s young and can capture what a man never sees –
A murmur of memory remembering the morning of the trees.
It’s the first time it’s happened: it’s his age and all it brings
And he’ll never try to touch the sky or climb like a monkey on the swings again.
There’s some sort of sadness from a lifetime of living as he pleased –
A murmur of memory remembering the morning of the trees.
The life you have is all you have and every day will tell.
The days of youth were those of truth and innocence as well.
So guard the secret carefully, and travel on your way –
For today and tomorrow will soon be yesterday.
So, happy in his knowing, the boy, on his own, wanders on.
He doesn’t need to watch and wait for the laughter to come now.
It echoes all around him as he dreams in his new reverie –
A murmur of memory remembering the morning of the trees.
Comentários