Through the plain glass pane
The cool, unmoved, slate grey is the same,
As yesterday’s.
As it will no doubt be tomorrow.
Has anything changed?
Will anything remain,
Of the laughter, the love, the strains?
Should we pour our memories down the drain?
What if we wrote ourselves a note?
We could sign it “well done you”,
Then put it in the post.
It could arrive in the future,
Just when we need it most
Missives & Musings 