Sometimes I Pass the Place Where We Once Lived

A sonnet

Sometimes I pass the place where we once lived
And glimpse three ghosts arriving at the door
A woman - me; a man; a newborn child,
Alighting, in the darkness, shocked and sore.
I watch them cross the threshold, disappear,
They don't exist now - all of them are gone,
For brand new parents barely last a day,
And babies only live 'til they are one.
In twenty years…