Writing

"Riches, prestige, everything can be lost. 

But the happiness in your own heart can only be dimmed; 

I should've written it in pencil

I should've known it couldn't last.

Should've told it to a page in an in-between

Far from permanence.

I should've written it in erasable graphite

Should've whispered it to no one

When I lean against my grandma 

On the green couch 

She talks about things that used to be 

Does that mean 

When I’m her 

My grandkids won’t understand