Souvenirs

Only a castle - in - the - air;
Only a dream lying withered there,
Covered with cobwebs fragile and grey,
Gradually fading and crumbling away.

Softly I tread the yesteryears;
Echoes of voices fill my ears.
Lingering perfume pervading the air
Captures the past and imprisons it there.

Precious and lovely the things that are found
As sunshine streams in and dances around:
Smiles and expressions, varied and dear,
Mingling with memories all crystal clear.

Only a castle? Only a dream?
It's not what they are, but what they seem.
Castles are beautiful; dreams are rare.
I like my castle: I'll keep its fare
--- as souvenirs.

by Viola Parks

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