white, light, fades away
on this bright, white, paper stripe
which spells, dark, lines in gray
and points, far, far away
and then it flies, down, down the hill
and then it sinks, sinks, in to the lake
and it spreads, thick lines of ink
and it flows, down, down the will
and the sun, dries, the lines of hopes
once penned, downed, with firm strokes
and once held, close in to the palm
and once read, heart, a hundred times
and then it slips, down, in to the grass,
and then it went, away, carried away,
like the thin, clean, air of smoke
from an old, tint, tobacco pipe
then the blurred, spread, shades of blue
said in calm, cold, shades of rust
the tale, of, the faded lines
which signed, off, off the life..
::