How the Day has Changed

How the day has changed, as once I basked in its sunlit hours, when unrealized joy sprung like a newly budding rose, whose reminiscent fragrance, long forgotten, called me like an old friend, and my heart leapt its voice. With each plush petal that unfolded, new watercolors tinted my faded horror, and the mournfully lost merriment of youth shone once more from my shrouded eyes. Song and laughter again found freedom to dance without restraint on the winter wind. Each dawn whispered in my waking reverie, to embrace the regained buoyancy of spirit, floating on wedding waves, washing away despair who had travelled upon my shoulders for many a year. The offered hand I eagerly clasped welcomed mine warmly, dragging me from depths where I'd lingered far too long. Yet, as all things pass with time and tide, the day died. Now in sombre shadows I sit and weep for that impromptu reunion, so fleeting, of the essence of childhood expectancy with its faithful friend hope. When time sprouted wings to fly from bough to bough, each bearing leaves and fruits of varied hues and succulents, now dried and shriveled in autumn's chill. For how the day has changed, and with all of which lost and lamented, entered acceptance, the stalwart one who holds me steady when I teeter on the brink, and sweeps away the salty tears that threaten to burn my lips, and in a voice soft and low, says, that which you never truly found can ever be lost.