One may think
that time and absence killed them
But, his train
sold the ticket back and forth
It's the little things
that left us with a time of roses
in one corner,
in a piece of paper
or in a box
As a thief,
Lurking behind the door
They’ve got you so much
at their mercy
as dead leaves
that the wind drags
There and here,
that they smile at sadly and
make us cry when nobody sees us