Diaries

They all lie there

In the bottom of a drawer

My past days

A trip here 

A trip there

A journey somewhere;

Some birthdays

Long forgotten

Some sad things

Old and rotten

Times by which I must not be late

Deadlines that defined my fate;

Covers blue, black and grey

British Summer Time

Next year

Last year

Clocks forward, clocks back

Days in a neat little stack;

And now, unloved, they lie

No longer of importance

These little bibles of my time

My to-ing, my fro-ing

Once to my pocket married

Once referred to, once carried;

And when you finally come across them

You will look and wonder

But only briefly

Only fleetingly

To think of that day

Before you throw them away.