The Hall

By Alex MacGregor

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Nothing has changed.

Polished wood, radiator guards.
Chairs stacked in two.
Windows peeling with white paint.

Nothing has changed.

Pyrex mugs, a giant urn.
Coffee, tea.
Custard creams and bourbons.

Nothing has changed.

The distant echoes.
Squeaking footsteps, joyful laughter.
Not knowing where we were going.

Nothing has changed.

Clinging evermore to a memory.
Untouched by the passing of time.
As I still see it.

Nothing has changed.

Poem © 2016 Alex MacGregor Ltd. All rights reserved.

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