only the echoes remain
clinging like bird
song to branches
but where are
the true songs
the voices that led us
bewitched
into the woods
lily of the valley
wild garlic
ghosts of our youth
flitting breathless
beneath spring trees
white skulls
stepping stones
leading us
into
deep dark waters
rogermoorepoet 
Wow.dear roger.!!wonderfull wordings”ghosts of youth……”
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They are with us all … so glad you picked up on this. Thank you.
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Pleasure is mine,dear roger.
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