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
Copyright © Frances Stoneham | Year Posted 2007
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