It was there, 

In the sound of the wind,

A fading memory,

Lost to the forgotten shadows,

Of time.  

 

 And still you whisper to me,

Quietly,

As footsteps do,

Where your name,

Once existed,

Beside mine.

 

Hands circling,

The rose,

You once held,

Now tinted with age,

As we are. 

 

And still,

I remember you,

As a child remembers,

The rose-hue fragrance,

And warmth,

Of a sweet embrace.   

 

My hands,

Forever folded,

Around the stem,

Where the petals,

Have fallen,

Into the winds of time.