A small rustle Only a soft sound But enough to Fill the air

My memory stirs With tales of old And what first Blossomed there

And flood back The sounds of Laughter, right to The sounds of pain

And so I feel Once more, that I am there again

More memory wakes To fill my head of Joyful and wondrous Things

And then it brings Me back again to The land of forgotten Kings.

The sun still Touches upon the Dale, and flowers Still feel the rain

But sorrow fills The hearts of many And I still feel Their pain

O' to draw back The joyful feelings And sing of land of old, To feel the wind Upon my face And have dear Things still to hold

A new page turns The end is near I feel it to my bones,

No more things To blossom here In the land I Call my home.

Something falls Upon the page, I know naught What it be,

Later I find It is a tear, And just the First I see

I try to read The words, now Printed upon that Page

They won't make out So anger me, and I once more Feel pain

But to feel the Grass between my Toes, or rain upon My hair...

I would give so much
So much... Just to once more
Be there

But over now it is Of old, and finished Is the rain, but Still I wish to Be there, in the Brilliance of that tale