Words

Maybe I have been reading too much of fiction or the cancerian(read: dreamer to the limit) in me has become effusive; for a few days back I was thrilled to find a small yellowing piece of paper with five lines in the most lucid and ornate cursive.

With a liking for antiques and sometimes,as a child having dreamt of finding something long and forgotten in some dusty volume; the very thing happened when I stood on tiptoe to take out a '64 edition oxford dictionary from the bookshelf.They were written nearly thirty five years ago by my uncle.

These are those lines:

Watches tick the minute away;

Clocks strike the hour;

With the sands of time running out fast;

One day,we hope to sit back and think; 

"Of a life well spent,in sweet content."

Words touched me.Words failed me.