The hours fled like convicts
from a prison cell.
We gave away the time we had
to live outside ourselves.

A quarter of my life is buried,
underneath,
and the place has finally changed its face
but I remember the disease.

The cold was killed by summer suns.
We came back in the heat.
We sat around with thoughts in hand,
growing up in fleets.

The seasons ran away with ease.
We forgot that we were kids.
Friends were tight as leaves to trees,
and love came like a breeze.

A quarter of my life was spent,
there beneath the eaves.
The place has finally changed its face
but I remember the disease.