I suppose I am a temporary thing, thought Blurtso. The day will come when I am gone and forgotten. As if I never existed. As before I existed. In the meanwhile I’m here, standing between two oblivions, pausing to enjoy a snack, and sending a mouthful of grass… to its next oblivion.
“It is early”
Of course, it is early.
You will hear other voices
sing other songs.
You will choose one.
You will come to know
the depth of the shadows
in the grasses.
You will see friends
grow and wither,
and dreams and sorrows
slip away.
Will you forget these songs?
Will they vanish in the beauty
with which they cannot compete,
the white mountain, the red rose,
the resolute eyes of a lover?
Or will they remain,
and remind you of the glow
your eyes had once,
and the magic they inspired
in the heart of another?