Sprout

Perhaps,
Like a fleeting shooting star,
My memories
May vanish from your mind
In just a fraction of a moment...
It will be over.
 
Yet,
The echoes of my voice will linger,
Haunting your being
Like the mournful cry of
A solitary hornbill,
Yearning in the endless summer
 
From the faint whisper
Of my very being,
Tender shoots
Will sprout anew