Laughter still rings
in the empty glasses
scattered across the counter.
A bird sings in the sun,
through the open window
there's hope.

Outside looks charming,
intoxicatingly inviting.
A breeze, a babbling brook,
chipmunks scurry through
last year's fallen leaves.

But here, inside these walls
the laughter still echoes
and echoes and echoes
like ghosts of jokes told.
Like sand on the sheets,
grating, but a reminder
of what once was great.