Words

Lost are our written words so frail Today our reliance on the e-mail Gone are the days when our hearts we did pour Pen too paper our love to implore Our thoughts on love, politics, war and world grief Now down by the wayside they quietly sleep They sleep so softly in deep despair There is no pen or paper anywhere The words they lay there in dire straights Just waiting for a mind to make their escape A mind that will lend them a release And penned on paper they will beckon to appease And then in a hundred years or more They will be read, reckoned and perhaps adored For they are the words of love, passion, pride and joy To the reader a history to inhale and employ A symbol of man's greatest strife A tale, a confirmation of his life He struggled so hard since way back when To leave his mark for future men But so sadly in these modern days So much to the simplicity of the e-mail And this word is usually minimal and swift Then deleted - its ending ever so quick There being no reminder of sweet words to say So much better were the 'Olden days!' Frances! Stoneham