When moments are dreary passing

Then there surely must be,

An echo, a drift, a promise that died

Or some part of us,

That never truly left

But lingers somewhere,

In the random stir of other worlds

That might intrude and clash,

In the protest to exist

In the realms of what-ifs,

Or might have been

That lie in frozen regret,

That yearns to be again

In the passing of relentless time,

That dances in the shadows

Flitting between the then and the now,

And will not fade

Like the blossoms remembered,

In the fields of glory

Those sun-kissed days of youth,

That paint the dreams of ageing years