Song that Never WasIs there really a song?I thought I rememberedA scrap of a shadow,The clearest of notesI was lost for so longI thought I'd discoveredA hope of escapingIn fragments of tune.I once thought I was wrongWas just an illusionA thing misrememberedOf simpler times.And yet still there's the songMelodious raptureStill haunting my mem'ryFrom just out of reach.And I think, though I longTo truly rememberTwas merely inventionThere was never a song.
There Used to be Bells HereThe old church has been gone for some seasons now, but the memory runs deep. When the wind blows they still listen by the windows for the jingle and clang of absent bells. Today the wind howls a low and unaccompanied song of mourning, shaking the trees, rattling the fences and tugging at the coats of the few who go out on such days.Sitting on the sidewalk curb just across the street from the construction is a tired man. He stares wistfully through where the church once stood. He has been there since early morning, before the clouds rolled in and the wind rose up. One of the construction workers calls to him across the road:"Hey, what're you doing over there?"The man raises his head. He has a well-trimmed beard and deep-set eyes. He looks older than he is. "Nothing. Just thinking.""You've been here all day. Think anything interesting?""You know what used to be here?""Nah.&