SomeWhere inside me, lost
In misty folds of time,
Soft falls the sound
Of a child’s anklet, tinkling, gently
On a distant Wind chime;
No form, yet child it be
Never to be free;
Some part of me remembers
An anklet’s tinkle, chiming
In the Wind of a willow tree;
No air has it breathed
Unblemished it be,
Some part of me Weeps
For that chlid, that
had no chance-
To feel
