As the tears roll down my face and land softly on my chest,
I look up at the sky and notice the moon; oh what a pretty white crest.
It is so mysterious and wondrous, this little white moon.
Then suddenly off in the distance I hear the sad song of one lonely loon.
I feel much sympathy for the sullen loon but yet I do not feel alone.
For the bright little moon sheds light on a path to guide me home.
While I gaze up at the moon and its wide expanse of light,
it seems to me as though a higher power has twisted it like a light bulb into the night.
I believe as I weep that I must be daft,
to cry over something that has already past.
Time, I think, cannot heal all wounds.
If it could then why is it that the little crescent is still not a full circle, the moon?
I began to remember those moments, that is why I have been crying, for they were the best.
Since they are old and brittle, I think that they should be laid down and put to rest.
And maybe they will rest in peace?
Could it be a possibility that they will in time flourish and grow into weeping willow trees?
Then I would not be the only soul to cry.
For every other soul will have said their goodbyes.
So now I will take our happy memories and moments and bury them in the ground.
They will be good for two other lost and in-love souls once they are found.
Because our time has come and left and is now forever past;
So lest we forget and forgive for once and at last.