The Pink Room
In the pink room with its window on winter,
I play the piano and watch the smoke rise.
This room held children and laughter and teardrops,
It saw all our secrets as if it had eyes.
And now the bird out the back window flies,
And the chimney smoke drifts, and like memory, dies.
Who is left now to remember the children
That played in the pink room and drifted to sleep?
Only bare walls that can speak of the stories;
The good times and bad times are all buried deep.
So much excitement when it was the new house:
We’d watch from the pink room as trains would roll by,
Promising new life, and people, and places –
Who knew where the future of our dreams would lie?
All the young children have gone to their own lives;
The pink room is empty except for this tune.
And the ‘for sale’ sign sits out on the front lawn;
The songs of the family will all be gone soon.
And the winter bird’s gone now, I think;
And the smoke in the sunset is pink.