it is times like these
when sacred voices cry
wind in trees
and Gaelic haunts
when to feel the breeze
inside the still box
shadows crossing
closed eyes
to once again
taste her lips
on mine
and feel again
the pain
of remembering
it is times like these
when sacred voices cry
wind in trees
and Gaelic haunts
when to feel the breeze
inside the still box
shadows crossing
closed eyes
to once again
taste her lips
on mine
and feel again
the pain
of remembering