What Remains.


A frozen field of bluebells,
The bark from a dying tree.
All these things are sad indeed,
But the beauty we still see.

Much like your unforgettable face,
I long to see the sky.
For that which hovers above me
is invisible to my mind’s eye.

I will always be here,
Preserved in thoughts, like glass.
Though my face may not be remembered,
My name will be dew upon the grass.

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