In your old room, the unrelenting clock
Whiles away the melancholy hours.
And with each unavoidable tick or tock,
The pain your absence causes buds and flowers.
No winding back the hands will fix time’s rampage,
Nor silencing the cuckoo’s hourly call.
Removing dials is neither sane nor sage,
For mortal souls, time rewinds not at all.
But as the cogs and hands keep turning,
A bittersweet reflection stems the pain.
Stashed letters, full of tenderness and yearning,
Are bearable to relive once again.
And so it is for all who’ve loved and lost,
Fond memories someday outweigh the cost.