Here our nostalgia took the better of us
And our halves, for better or for worse
As we saw camera’s mists transforming
Young playful doe-eyed girls to graceful
Grandmothers, with the nose-ring intact.
The mists in eyes clouded our eyeglasses.
A thousand moons have gone from sky.
A frozen wall soon fizzled down the mist
A thousand new moons sprang brightly
In the eastern skies over ship-less seas.