Seems to be so long ago
that life was to be celebrated,
with ones that love you, and you they,
with the whole world looking on.

But passing by that etched frame,
where once warmth emanated from within,
now brings a bigger picture in,
one away from the easel.

For nature was not a place to stay,
to warm the hands and sleep the day,
and to carry on in no peculiar manner
is to mosey on another way.