The mist hangs heavy about the trees,
And the faeries dance across the lake.
The high branches sigh in the cooling breeze,
But only the tender saplings quake.
Somewhere in me memories stir.
Pictures mix into a pleasant blur.
Memories of my family and friends,
Rushing past me on high winds.
They are welcome memories; not all are good
Of where I'm standing and where I stood.
Once again the tired leaves fall.
And the trees will seem stark and dead.
To my friends and family I call.
No one's there in memory's stead.