I am old.
My memories falls like rain
Leaving puddles on my brain.
And my thoughts all slip
Through my fingers like grains
Of sands of time through a sifting pot.

All my memories of you, my dear…
Some are gone, but some are here.
They are never solid, flowing through
The plains and fields of atmosphere
Where there’s always room for space.

But still my words ring true, to me
They resonate your life at sea.
Some snapshots from the years that passed,
Honeysuckle sweat, the tart Chablis,
And the movement of your hair.