I had left the door ajar
for just a moment.
Looked up in time
to see a shadow.
Leaving.
Not unlike
some common
thieves
so late at night.
And all that's left
behind for me was
just a sound.
No sound of music
but the busy fiddle
of reality,
which was creating now
the lovely, but so final sounds:
The patter of -just leaving now -,
the patter of so, yes.....
so many
l'il boys' feet.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gone-11/
