Читать книгу THE TIME CAPSULE - Norman Smith D. - Страница 8

The Time Capsule

Exposed to the finer things of life

Developed a passion for botany

That consumed most of his time

In his cellar, he grows a garden

With orchids and exotic plants.

There in command of his pen

As the next passion of his life

The one he holds as his dearest

Frequently he spends an entire day

Writes from morning until night.

Never left his beloved sanctuary

Of his garden and his favored pen

One day at noon, he heard a blast

He peeped through the window

Only to notice that it was dark.

Perhaps the blast of a thunderstorm

Like the others this, too, will pass

Engulfed by his writing he heeded not

But continued until the morning

Again, he peeped through his window.

It seemed to have grown much darker

With that, he laid aside his pen

To ponder what it might have been

Yes, the fear had reached him now

Perplexed, he scratched his weary head.

Once again but now in fear he peeped

Through the dampened cellar window

To notice the absent of life outside

When many days had passed and gone

He went upstairs and exited his home.

There, the first to greet his eyes

A book he wrote, the time capsule

Speechless, he stood alone and scared

Embarking upon the only obvious quest

To see what has become of man.