The grace of the gray wind brushes her cheek,
and she hears a distant bell from nowhere
--silly imagination.
Words of a distant and long dead poet wrap 'round her,
as she dreams of a city by the sea lost forever
--drifting through ages.
Plans peel away like petals from the rose
and the dead whisper reminders of what we miss
--simply by not living.
The nails of the past leave the marks on her back,
she self consciously shies away from seeing them
--feeling them always behind.
Time is a clever thief, stealing away days and days,
giving empty minutes and hours to burn away
--no tomorrow.
The clang and the clatter of time crumbling away,
whisper that this moment has passed
--to be here, nevermore.
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