I hear their voices, strong and clear,
Though they have left the stage.
They sang me through my troubled youth—
Now just a timeworn, faded page.
They never saw me in the crowd,
Nor did they know my name.
Yet through their music, every word
Brought solace to my pain.
They sparked my dreams and fantasies—
That even I might rise,
Beyond the shadows of my youth,
Perhaps to touch the skies.
The stage stands silent, empty now,
But still their echoes live—and never shall be gone.
Resounding in one grateful soul,
Who paused to hear their song.
The time, of course, will come one day
When I step from the stage.
And may some wanderer find a spark
Within my written page.
Dale Lloyd 
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