Lost

Lost

My golden earring is lost, gone.
A symbol of my working past 
Sophisticated, young.

Days of suits, neck bows;
Dressing for success;
Simple, professional.

The times of being a part of happening things,
The rush of keyboards and telephone rings,
Passed, oh, so fast.

Now jeans and sweats in silence,
Only the roar of other’s commute;
Goodbye, golden earring.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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