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A Private Parade

To Marcy Howard

The wind blows leaves across a field,
As small whirlwinds spin and dance,
The leaves are pushed across open land,
Though dead, the livings second chance,
These leaves parade across the field,
And their movement makes us think,
Fueling a parade of memories,
The past’s remembered link.
 
 
We close our eyes and see the past,
And though its dead and gone,
The memories  march through our minds,
While the emotions come along,
It seems the leaves become a mirror,
An echo of the past,
Though fallen from a standing tree,
Still they seem to last.
 
 
As we watch the dancing leaves,
A parade of memories points out the fact,
That the arms that held you tight,
Some day, will come back,
There are things that will endure,
Though each day is our charade,
The memories hold a person close,
As we live our private parade.
 
 
The leaves become one of nature’s toys,
As they march to an unheard tune,
And as they parade across the field,
Our memories are not immune,
No person can stop the falling leaves,
And memories we can not trade,
While what we found marches on,
In our loves endless, private parade.
.    Only you.

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