7.
I See the Smokey hills
of my Past
as a child of memories
I experience
cut Grass, Burning leaves, whispering snow fall
children's voices echo through
doors
that are closed

yesterday is 
now part 
of me
can't you see the pain of 
living
is knowledge that you can not
avoid
Face 
The distant mists flow by
obscuring, hiding
comforting
you and I are caught In today
We can Not return
melancholy