It is with a tiny whisper not a clash of arms
Nor screams nor cries nor trumpets
That all things end in forgotten silence
Unremarked, unremembered, and unrequited
Not in brilliant daylight nor dark of night
But between in the undecided twilight
Things slip from hand and slip from heart
Silently tumbling . . . tumbling away
It is in this silent ballet of loss...
Read More