He sits ready on the fallen old log
Awaiting a tale of high mystery
Found in the depths of a mind cloaked in fog,
A story reshaped all through history.
The man recalls about his long-lost love
Hiding under a different - fresh - name
Yet it never gets old. A soaring dove
Circles above, a gift of peace, a flame
Of new hope. A love reborn forever
And not aging. Unlike this sage, who speaks
Of what is lost, holds tight as a tether
When he must let go, must change what he seeks.
His love is a memory, gold indeed;
What is so precious is not what he needs.
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