We are but gentle smoke.
Drifting across life's page.
Touching the surface of things.
Never leaving more then a trace.
Of our being here.

We are but summer rain.
That passes in the night.
Gone like the dew by morning.
Unnoticed by those who have slept.
In silent repose.

Life is a little dream.
Made of vague images..
Like smoke and rain is soon lost.
Leaving only a vague memory.
Of shadows we cast.

MJ Flack