Soft is a Sweet Serenade
When I was a child I remember,
there was a memory of kindness,
a sort of rite of passage,
whereby she left me with a smile.
I remember wishful then,
the forever summer nights,
she laughed outloud
and we danced as forever might.
There is a quiet reality in love,
the dawning of an understanding,
that eternally above
all other conclusions must remain.
I remember the soft dawn of summer,
a child in a constant stir,
finding my reality,
I spoke of her until the autumn.
I would today respond to a soft
reckoning of a spiritual gain,
when life becomes the real,
sort of intellectual game.
I recall tender the night sky,
when in the cold autumn breeze,
our gasps created pictures,
we lived inside our dreams.