THE OLD NEW LAKE

     THE OLD NEW LAKE             

Looking at old pictures

While staring at the lake

Then was white

Now is green

But I have to leave

Then I seat myself on a wooden bench

There is a child who died

He loved the park 

But he had to leave it too early

Then I look at the sky

And watch a black bird

He is flying through the lake

But he will come back

The bridge is just a sign.

                                                                           
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