A Rosy Lens
Things that used to mean a lot
Don’t mean as much today,
Yet missing them can still feel sad,
No matter what they say.
In memory, there’s laughter
And there’s comfort, which surrounds
Friends and family partaking
In the foodstuff that abounds.
In reality, that picture’s
Filtered through a rosy lens,
But the past still seems inviting
When comparing now and thens.
As the world pulls taut around me,
I seek solace in the thought
That most often, all the yearning
Won’t reveal that which was sought.
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