All along the way we find the pieces.
Pieces to build with,
All again, all new,
The ideas found in old dreams,
Where paths uncurl,
Into ways we dreamed back then.
Long ago, those days almost passed.
Those dreams still living in corners,
Where dust collects on the places we meant to go,
Before summer’s gentle fog,
Passes over and leads us down other paths.
But still, here they are
Little pieces scattered.
Waiting for this time now.
Your soft hand to cradle it,
And ask me if I remember.