The time is old,
The year is new,
The colors are bold,
The number is few.

People speak with a strange new tongue,
Us few of old don't fit in,
We are old and yet we're young,
Our place is with expired kin.

Traveling through life in a strange world,
Where heels are high and clothing thin,
Hair is burned, straightened, curled,
A feeling of displacement writhes under our skin.

Searching for an object lost,
That thing to fill the void inside,
A life or heart is the cost,
To find what was left behind.

And then a bump,
A smile shared,
A throat with a lump,
A feeling cared.

The time is old,
The year is new,
The colors are bold,
The number is few.

The void is filled,
With love nearly lost,
Ancient love rekindled,
Two hearts did it cost.

But the cost was fair,
And willingly paid,
Another lifetime together,
The world remade.

Our time is of old,
Our year is of new,
Our colors are bold,
True Love is few.