The silver maiden

The breeze murmurs
 With the whispering stream
Sharing secrets
Of an ancient dream

                                   Where faith still bides                                   
                   Beyond all reason,                    
There is no time,
No day, no season

The winds of time
Can never sway
The hope that waits
In vain each day

While golden tears
Are shed from trees
And the stream mourns
With the gentle breeze.
 

1985
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Image and poem © Mirino (PW) June, 2013