It is said that happiness is a by-product
Perhaps made by imagination
Congured by lifeless days
For a flower grows in a field
And faces the sun
Drawn toward it . . . .
Like a moth encircling a flame.
But soon one will die
For the flower, winter will come
And take its beauty
And otherwise cause it pain
Lost forever, never to return
Like feelings swept away
Cold and silent, lifeless too

Wounds that don't heal
Bruises left black and blue
All too real, like love and hate
Yet so easy to fade away
Though like me, easy to forget
After time, you won't remember
What was so long, was all to brief
The end has come
And you have gone away
But when you're gone, I'll still be here
For in my heart you'll always stay
For no longer do you know me
I'm only a stranger in your eyes,
Regreting now, things never meant to be.

-Terry Rowland