In Ten Or Twenty Years: Poem by Oscar Carpenter

In ten or twenty years from now, when my bones have turned to clay,
Will any here remember me, or what I had to say?
Will my words still echo in this room, will they bring a smile, a tear?
Or will they simply fade away, as though I were never here?

The times I've spent in this happy place, when things were going wrong
To share a drind with a dear old friend, or join them in a song.
And talk of art and poetry, and things that ease the mind.
And awaken to a brand new day, and leave the old behind.