So many things so sad to see,
Things time takes and throws away.
Like empty playgrounds with rusted swings,
Where happy children used to play.
Like broken houses, crumbling down
Their creaking doors swing in the wind.
But each was once a happy home,
And families laughed and cried within.
Or lonely people with shattered dreams
That watch the world through vacant eyes.
But each was once a little child
That dreamed beneath warm summer skies.
But the cruelest work that time will do
Is to kill a love that once burned bright
A love forsaken and nourished not
Will fade to dark from purest light.
I wonder where Goof is now.