A memory of his tenderness,
as sorrowful as a caged Netch,
like the sojourn of her first tear,
in parting anguish of one so dear.
A memory of his windless words,
like Kynareth’s sigh, felt unheard,
shackles her heart with silken chains,
she thought grief but mortal’s pain.
An arid trance of lingering gloom,
yet fervid dreams of phoenix plume,
crisp night air, and fresh morn’s hew,
a rose, a thorn, and a memory of you.

S.K