Precedent of Time
Hours, days, years
Pass nimbly by
Pitter-patters become footsteps
That run away.
To begin a new life
The past rusts, parts are lost or missing
We struggle to buff and repair
To keep the pieces together
Dust collects on holidays, birthdays, and vacations
confined to boxes, scrapbooks, and attics,
Yellow with passing years
hang in wooden frames.
Staring, haunting, ghostly images of the past
© 2018 Molly Smith