We run through the fields
Our hearts bursting within our rib cage
Furious panting
We are young again
Little children who know not
Of fear and loss and grief
Or passion and lust
Our feet dabble in the stream
The water runs over them and the round pebbles
Smoothed to a glossy plane
Through decades, centuries perhaps, of slow erosion
The sun reflecting off the water so bright
It hurts our eyes
But so beautiful that we cannot look away
Here we are, at the edge of a setting era
Tomorrow, you and I may be no more
But gather this, the glory of the setting sun,
The seemingly calm but powerful waters
And breathe the life back into my memories
Let them be the stories you tell your grandchildren
Stories of love, and adventure
Friendship and loyalty,
Laughter and companionship
Of betrayal and coping
Of staying together despite it all
Because the good times, the bad times
They were all our times.
