Voices

In the misty hours before it gets bright

All in the still of the night

Not a sound can be heard

Except for an occasional bird

Looking at photos from decades ago

People you knew whom left long ago

Are they still near

When you begin to hear

Deep back in your mind

Stories they told you more than one time

It’s like they are standing there

All while you stare

In perfect pitch

Your memory turned on a switch

The sound of them speaking

Is just what you’re seeking