How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.
The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.
Poetry is the dark side of the moon.
The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears.
It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.