In the the room of years,

My birthdays flew past me.

In the room of snow,

Ice burgs drifted next to me.

In the room of spring,

Grass followed my every footstep.

In the room of machines,

Phones and laptops were flying.

In the room of pictures,

Portrait’s were priceless.

In the room of love,

Doves were flying past me with roses in their beaks.