The Golden Age

I write this note and then press 'SEND'.

This life is gold with you in it, my dear friend.

'Would no hand rest upon my cheek,

Eyes to gaze in mine for that comfort I seek?

Rather, my hand rests on the mouse,

My tool to leave the emptiness of this house.

My heart that carried love of two,

Now technology the tool that sees me through,

Love for those I may never meet,

I'm hoping one day the hand and eyes may greet.

May you all know, both young and old,

Technology's the tool, but you are the GOLD.'