Boy

Boy Across distant,
distant memories In the corner of a dim,
small room,
A boy is making a guitar.
Unfinished, It can’t yet make a song.

Again and again, the seasons pass by.
The scenery changes.
The people change.
The city changes.
Only the sky,
With its clouds drifting aimlessly,
It doesn’t change.

Even now, the boy is making that guitar.
Dreaming that someday,Surely, Beautiful melodies will flow
from its strings.

The boy,
Even now,Is still a boy.