A week of moments ? a clutch of days ?
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play.
Medley of quavers informs the tune.
It's all too much: over all too soon.
Sweet condensation on chilling wine
Traveler's palm, flamboyant tree
Fast photos ripped and lost consign
A week of moments to faint memory.
A week of moments plucked from the page
Found far horizons, a sunset stage.
Suitcases bulge, in silence packed
A chapter closed: no looking back.
The lightest touch upon my arm
No fierce restraint, no call to stay.
Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king
With pool attendants in chess piece array.
Writer(s): Ian Scott Anderson
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