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See the house on that hill,
beneath the inked letters of past
memories, happiness built?
How great it was, how grand it was.

See those leaves on the path,
those roots sprouting between cracks
of eroded soil, of storms’ aftermaths?
How beautiful it was, how peaceful it was.

See the willow in the west
with veins hanging like a warm embrace
and billowing like a sweet caress?
How happy it was, how innocent it was.

Now, listen to the gleeful breeze,
to the laughs of spirits over long years,
and see. See the picture with more ease.
A forlorn house, a rotten path, a weeping willow,
all crying for lost time.
Forever undone.
Forever neglected.

Lost is the mighty. Found is the pitiful.
Nothing set in stone can be rewritten.
Look at time’s ruin destroy the invincible
and think: How tragic it is, how miserable it is.

About Author

Gina Kotinek

Gina Kotinek is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of the SPOT Lit. She can usually be found hunched over her computer, reading, writing, or searching for the art of conquering carpal tunnel and tendonitis.