I took my words, my thoughts confined to the ink on a page
I took them and bound them within the comforting wrapping
An envelope which contained an address and a flowered stamp
And from its home in one box it vanished, swept away
Carried by mechanisms unseen and unknown from me to you
And in this time between times, this passage of days
Where the words from the past meet you in the future
They wait for removal from their slumber to awake in your mind
In this age of digital where electrons travel in an instant
Across the nodes on the map, bearing their message without fail
There is still something to the deliberate and slow method
Where the words must wait until their parole comes
And they can break free from their prison and embrace their love
To risk that in the time of transition that the words don’t lose their meaning
And that like a good wine they get better with the time.
Neil White, 2014

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