In the end, what good is this
When gone are all the words you wrote
As time itself, with poignant kiss
Through passing years does now demote
When thoughts expressed, so fresh and young
From ink and pen with boldness sprung
Now lies forlorn in a database remote?
What good is it, when that silvery ideal
That in early dawn then shone so bright
And smithed together with utmost zeal
In words of eloquence and grammatical delight
From indexed view now softly slides
As other fancy memes the public guides
From light of day into a distant night?
So seasons come, and seasons go
And fancy words and posts inane
Like falling leaves in wind and snow
Mutedly are left to fade in vain.
Perhaps, a few, or one or two
Did strike a deeper note with you
What more from this to hope to gain?
Thus like thousand snowflakes in the sky
Unique, thoughtful and succinct
Our blogs and thoughts and posts blow by
Some full of wisdom; and some, indistinct
Into this silent world-wide web of thought –
A brilliant backdrop of ideas that’s wrought
From a world of pages interlinked.