Listen to poem:
This Too - Will Pass?
Will this too pass by?
I said to heath fire's glow,
watching sparks ascend—
The embers nodded match heads,
settling within ashen hoard.
Across from the flames,
a lone mirror held the room—
table, chair, and hearth.
Yet something was missing there:
Dyes cast and flouted, not seized.
The hollow chair's dent
still held the impression of
opportunities—
Once ripe for the plucking, gone
left to wither; passed on by.
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