Burnaby, BC, 07 April 2025, 7:00 PM
Meadows and Passersby By Bella Balisi-Bevilacqua In meadows where shadows sigh, And winds whisper, and the soul may fly, None shall linger, and none shall try, For all that passes is but a fleeting cry. The sun that sets in a golden dye, Shines for a moment, then bids goodbye, Like fleeting moments that we rely, Yet drift away, as time slips by. Beneath the trees, I silently lie, A witness to each soul that flits awry, They come, they go, none ask why, The path they take will not be dry. In tepid waters, the clouds draw nigh, Their forms like dreams that dare to vie, But they, too, vanish, and with a bite, Breathe, they leave without a tie. For each passerby, I yearn and try, To grasp the threads they leave behind, yet shy, From holding fast, lest I too deny The truth is that all are but a passing sky. Soon, the meadows will bloom, but in them lie, The footprints of those who chose to fly, And though they lingered, they did not spy, The hearts they touched as they said goodbye. So here I stand, beneath the high, Sky that stretches beyond the eye, And with each step, I too, must fly, For all are passersby, as we live, and die.
(MBB)
