Silver tarnishes, naught can ye do,
But stare, crumbling metal,
Crumbling bare, helpless watching,
In the end, all will end.
And cherish those rings,
Those strings, made of imperishable,
For they too will tumble,
From grace to ash.
Till naught but grey sand remains,
And memories of that silver place,
That silver lace, those linked chains,
How they shone, how you carried,
Yet velvet was naught, to protect,
Naught, to keep intact,
Those memories, our mortal tarnish death,
Will too take one day,
Till naught remains,
But tarnished ash.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
