Nymph like dust motes, dance and float,
through a web of sunlit lace curtain.
Each an experience lost, a sad cost,
gray specks of everything uncertain.
Melancholy recall, counting them all,
resplendent in what might have been.
Numerous schemes, long faded dreams,
a haunting of remembering when.
Long ago youth, searching for truth,
when life was ours for the taking.
Increments of time, an upward climb,
unforgiving years, a trilogy heartbreaking.
The dust motes will settle, testing our mettle,
for there's great strength in the human spirit.
Optimistic we're freed, experienced, proceed,
and look to a future forever inherent.
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