Tomorrow
Are you still here with me
Now the fire has burned low?
When the shadows chase
The tick of the clock?
Echoing in the silent hour.
I hear only
The haunt of the wind
In the chimney
And the voices of the past.
The rain reminds
Of evenings gone.
Remorseless rat-a-tatting;
Mocking with its repetition.
The pen is dry.
I cannot hear you!
Tomorrow...
Seems so far away.
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