Lost Melody

The places where we once met
Once loved
In love,
Stand empty, desolated.

So long passing
Since that minstrel, love
Played the joyful tune,
A serenade, that bound us.

But with nothing written,
No musicians score,
To preserve
That minstrel's opportunism,
Love's improvisation
Drifted far away,
The beauty of its chords
Buried under weight of years.

Misguided, I pass those places,
Little changed, but empty,
Hoping fragments of our time
Will still resound there.

And they do,
They truly do,
But not out loud.
Only in the hidden depths of memory.

by Patrick Ladbrooke

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