Departing As the slow minute-hand moves in its wide and silent sweep we all must move on.

At some time. From some pace. Due to some reason. Some friends are already gone, lost in a digital haze of once-stated words in the background of first-met, the upon a time exuberance faded... well, like an unpolished silver spoon no longer used not even for company. Just sitting quiet with other spoons n the dark of a wooden drawer no longer pulled open.... the visits past and no longer made, anyhow. The biggest shame is that our first hug would have been at a funeral. Why would we wait? Nonetheless, the gig’s up, I fear. There is no more heart for it.

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