Oeuvre Of The Living Poem by Bryan Taplits

Fickle time has turned its key
And now I'm locked and gone,
The window's there (but not so clear)
As once it was when young.
I have such wonderful memories
Of currency once earned but spent,
But now can never can be loaned-
it's lost!
But it wasn't way back then.
Bereft I am, because I know the tune that
once it was I sang,
But the grave now beckons-
I guess an old man's lesson-
Of what never will be heard
again.