what happens now?

I have been with this feeling from the last three or four days. Something seems to have changed. I couldn't articulate what, neither could I point it out. The poem below, by William Thomas Moore captures the feeling perfectly, to the T.


what will happen 
now? she asks. 
now, i say, 
now, 
the dishes will pile 
up in the sink 
and there will 
only be one 
pair of shoes at the door.