It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,
The moments were so easy to forget,
For now without your hand to guide, it seems
I seek in vain to find a way of dreams.
A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,
‘ Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,
A little song that I may never sing —
But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.
And though I never may return until
I clasp your hand beyond these years, why still
There is one guide the path of life along —
A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.