Crickets sang by
the old stone wall—
Lanterns swayed
where the shadows fall.
A gate creaked open—
No one called.
The dogs barked once,
Then still.
Oh—
Echoes of the lane—
Running barefoot through the rain.
Laughter fades,
But leaves remain.
Oh—
Echoes—
Echoes of the lane.
The smell of bread
from the window's glow,
A skipping rope,
The to-and-fro.
Fields where the fireflies used to show—
Now just weeds and time.
Where did they go?
The friends I know?
Oh—
Echoes of the lane—
Running barefoot through the rain.
Laughter fades,
But leaves remain.
Oh—
Echoes—
Echoes of the lane.
The violin weeps,
Soft and slow,
For the faces lost to the years ago.
The hollow note—
It bends,
It breaks—
For the silent fields,
The empty stakes.
https://rutube.ru/video/c387cbc195be179bddcda4aa89311276/
Echoes of the Lane
© Copyright: Альберт Светлов, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №226090601737
Свидетельство о публикации №226090601737
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