At a crossroad, we met by chance
In a cloud of dust, we are leaving behind the past.
Who would miss a place devoid of dance?
Who would have believed how long the past can last?
The past, in a dusty long overdue grave,
With eager shovels we bury.
Why carry the past as if we are brave?
Why burden a future of merry?
‘No’, says my crossroad friend,
And ‘No’, I hear myself say.
‘This is our crossroad day’,
In union we said. ‘Our past is spent’.
Look at me now, crossroad friend,
As I embrace a future bright,
Watching your embrace is my delight.
Can it be this easy for a heart to mend?