It’s a still life watercolour
On a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace and shadows wash the room.
As we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference like shells upon a shore, you can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives.
And you read your Emily Dickinson and I, my Robert Frost
And we mark our place with book markers that measure what we’ve lost
Like a poem poorly written,
We are couplets out of rhythm, verses our of rhyme, insyncopated time
Lost is the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives.
And we speak of things that matter
In words that must be said
Is analysis worthwhile, is theatre really dead?
Now the room has softly faded
I only kiss your shadow
I can not feel your hand
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives.
Simon and Garfunkel
Musings over 50 