The Years Pass

by Night Spring

The years pass.

More years have passed now since he died than he was alive. My hair is white now. It was brown when he died. I have a general's star on my shoulder, he has a stone on his grave. We fought and defeated one enemy, only to meet another. But for every day I'm glad he doesn't see, there's a thousand days I know he should have seen. For every sorrow I rejoice he wouldn't know, a thousand joys I weep he doesn't feel.

With every year I grow older, with every year his memory fades further.

The years pass.

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