Footsteps ........

I never hear his footsteps, 
Though he comes  so often,
Sits close by me and whispers,
Many a story into my ears.

Stories which I have been a part of,
And are really worth remembering,
Stories of my simple sweet dreams,

 My passions and innocent follies.

Of jubilations on winning a race,
Of frustration on losing the other,
Of falling victim to unkind weather,
Of bouncing back to health and vigour.

And suddenly I feel another hand,
Tapping  softly on my head,
As if alarming me to get up,
And attend to the chores ahead.

 I know not when they both depart,
As they hardly make a sound,
But guess the former was my past,
And the latter must be the present .

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