THE DIARY. 

A covert world shared,
Between writer 'n ' page,

A faithful friend
That doesn't dob,
 Is the Diary.

Even with the ink spills,
And the nib breaks,
No word is heard
When travelling thought is caressed,
Between writer 'n' page,
That probably replaced your brother, sister,
Or waiting lover,

Its there, at your hand, and always there,
Just across the desk,
In a drawer ,tucked from sight,
Whether in abundant joy, or in agony of sorrow,
As in a Kings Crown, twisted in thorns,
betrayed with a kiss,
Rooted down the years,

Reflecting like an old family mirror,
Telling out your own lifes's story,
Now faded as the colour of day,
So all that you see,
 Is once again,

Your own unspoken
Yesterdays,