Warm yellow spills onto the cool blue
Oh it feels like a brush of fingers
Standing still letting you wash over me
Growing heavy with each beat
Yet floating as on a lazy river
Only the breeze can change my direction
My eyes closed tightly
As no vision could compare
Swaying with our breaths
Firelight flickers over calm water
The only sound is ours
Telling old tales
With glorious words
That can not be spoken otherwise
How I want to record this moment
To keep and recall
When the world is cold
And I am old


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