WINDS THAT BLOW DOWN EMPTY HALLS, CLOCKS THAT DO NOT CHIME, PAPER YELLOWED ON THE WALLS, ALL ARE LOST IN TIME. RAIN UPON THE WINDOW PANE,
EMPTY COFFEE MUG, PAGES BROWN WITH DIRT AND STAIN,
MEMORIES THAT TUG. ASHES IN THE FIREPLACE, COBWEBS IN THE NOOK, SHE HAS LEFT WITHOUT A TRACE, SOFTLY CLOSE THE BOOK. T JATA
