I stopped upon the threshold

Of this room that used to be mine -

To see if a memory remained

Of earlier, happier time.

My hair is gone from the corner.

The lamp with it's soft light,

By which I sat and read

Far into the night.

The desk that held my writings

(In cluttered pigeonholes)

Is gone from beneath the

Window - and the coals

Lie in the dead fireplace -

No flame to warm the heart.

I look for something I can take

And keep - some little part

Of yesterday that nothing can erase.

As I stand there

The strange walls stare

At me with a blank face

And the unaccustomed silence

Echoes endlessly -

The thought - I've lived with you so long -