My daughter's 'cello teacher Barbara told me:
"Time was, there were so many people in my life
To telephone, to tell the small news to,
One day wasn't long enough to talk to all of them
And practice too. You always have to practice.

"Years and friends slip off so quietly
It hardly registers, until you want to share
A wedding, what a grandchild said— forget
The concert hall— and no one's left to ring up
Who wants to hear, not anyone at all."

Myself, I've written so much I cannot remember
What I said, or where the lines came from—
Those eavesdropped conversations between strangers
dropped from sight—
That I believe life hangs upon forgetting.

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