True is it that we have seen better days.
Dark are the hours as our time draws nigh.
Memories wane, bones rattle, blind eyes glaze,
The glory of our youth belie.
Mired amongst the coppice,
Where the earth doth strive to reclaim,
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
There’s no one ‘cept self to blame.
Thin spiral notebook 
You wrote just like ole Will, brandishing a long ago voice and the picture helped with the time travel.
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Perfect picture, it made the imagery has muscle.
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A victim of entropy’s slide. Good one!
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This is wonderful, Tara. And perfect with the photograph!
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Your repertoire of writing styles is so varied I suppose I shouldn’t feel surprised when I come across some I’ve not seen here before. I totally heard this as a voice over at the end of a Victorian tragedy, which I very much mean as a compliment.
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And I need to sign you up to be the Writer-in-Residence for Room 215, OK?
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