In honor of a friend who has lost something once held dear.
The tide recedes but leaves behind
bright seashells on the sand.
The sun goes down but gentle warmth
still lingers on the land.
The music stops, and yet
it echoes on in sweet refrains.
For every joy that passes,
something beautiful remains.
I'm still meaning to poke through my Neruda books and pick out one worth posting with parallel translation.