There is nothing left but crumbs on the floor,
The locks are tight upon the door,
The cups are cleaned, the plates are dry,
The lights switch off without a sigh.

A long day has past, the last 12 hours,
Much was done beyond all powers,
But as all good things, this must end,
Only wishing these times will still pend.

As one just stood inside the lonely hall,
Listening to the cuckoo call,
He seems to understand what lacks still,
He looks around, he starts to feel.

The heat still stays, a lengthy prisoner,
The thumbprints await the tardy cleaner,
Cards on the table, a bottle of wine,
All that's left of a night divine.

Pictures were taken, candles were blown,
Everyone else seems to have grown,
Moving on forward, lives of their own planning,
Only myself, the wheel, there is no one manning.

I've told myself, it's the last time,
That not letting go would be just a crime,
Some stolen time, a last quick hug,
Before one lets go without a tug.

I will not choke, I will not cough,
I must move on, I must go forth,
I will grow up, I will be strong,
No longer will I just be strung along.

There is no moral today. Just memories. A flood of happy memories.

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