Our footsteps will always echo in the places where we ran
hand in hand, feet flying, unafraid that we might fall
or pull each other to the ground.
Over grass we flew, over cobbles and concrete,
down the lane, across the street,
each somehow leading; neither, never, behind.
No broken flags to trip us, no bollards to block our way,
but a clear run, on and on,
out of the town and into the fields.
And there, a slip;
a sudden relaxation of my grip,
a hand once full, now empty.
You lead us now, my love,
down cobbled lanes into leafy glades,
always one step ahead
while I, behind, reach to take your hand once more.
My footsteps will always follow in the echoes of your own.
But you lead us now; look ahead, my love,
and never turn to look behind,
never, neither, try to find
my hand with your own.
My feet fly, never to fall, waiting for the day you soar
and climb within my reach.
Hand in hand, I will lift you higher, unafraid
while beneath us, in the places where we ran,
our footsteps will always echo.
'Echoes', December 9th 2015, 4:16am.
