Walking on the glass of spilled dreams.

Thinking of the days when it was full.

Little by little it filled , drop by drop,

Until there was no more it could hold.

Now it is empty and broken,

As it lay at my feet in pieces.

I still can recount its contents,

That were so precious to me.

I guess it wasn't meant to hold

A life time of memories earned.

Such is life when we are dead;

Much goes with us in the grave.