Immortality
A faded teacup sits on
A window ledge.
A faint bit of steam
Hoovers above it.
A spoon lies on the floor
Close to the ledge…
Gleaming in the afternoon sun
Against the paisley.
A heaped pile of sweetness
stretches across the carpet.
A hand reaches to pick
Toward it to be imbued with life.
A fly flits cautiously, tenderly
Around the heavily lidded eyes.
Trying to stir them from
Their octogenarian slumber.
Alas, the bells of tea time
Today
Are playing
A requiem mass.
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