New boxes old letters
New beginnings old old endings
The tables, all three tables actually
Are covered in the past-times stuff
Sorted into piles year by year
There will of course be
Some misplaced works
Some misconstrued emotions
I will read your poem again
Where you fear for your future
As you drink your red red wine
I will see, as if I didn't already know
How prolific I became
From the year we parted
In Two-thousand-and-five
To the year before I met my new love
In Two-thousand-and-six
The tray of crystal goblets with glasses for the water
Finish the scene off a real treat
They give it a sobriety
Worth it then to take a photograph of The Years
Rather though for posterity than for nostalgia's sake
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