All clamor stilled,
all fledglings flown.
Full harvest from
the seeds once sown.
Our floors now only
gather dust.
We wait for calls
as wait we must.
We yearned for silence,
years gone by,
And now I can't
remember why.
—9/24, 10/12/2006; 8/1, 12/20, 12/21/2007; 2/7/2008
©2006-2008 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated February 7, 2008
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