Classic Poem

It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,
The moments were so easy to forget,
For now without your hand to guide, it seems
I seek in vain to find a way of dreams.

A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,
'Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,
A little song that I may never sing--
But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.

And though I never may return until
I clasp your hand beyond these years, why still
There is one guide the path of life along--
A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.