Its funny, as I am sitting here in the back of the auditorium, listening to all my friends on stage. The song is The Nutcracker, and suddenly it all comes back. As the bass thrums in my ear and the trupet blares loudly across the audience, I remember those winter day where She would take me to The Nutcracker. Two young girls in tow, She would cart us around, another venue every year. It was grand, the high light of my season. I could watch women with long limber legs and men in their toy soilder costumes, prance gracfully across the stage in time with th music. As I sat in that darkened auditorium it all came back to me. She used to take me to see this, to listen to this music. I had the urge to laugh madly, and cry out in anguish. Its a funny thing how precious things become long after they have ended. When the memory still stands while the erson fades. In that darkened auditorium I felt a pang of sickening nostaligia and longing. For She is dead and I am still here, and now I have no one to take me to the Nutcracker

My heart is but a Hut
Of love amid a desolate Moor
Of loneliness. One whose thatches
Of love, the finest of all that doth glow.

My heart is but a Hut
Of memories amid a desolate Moor
Of nostaligia. One whose thatches
Of love now lost her heavenly glow.

My heart is but a Hut
Of wild longing amid a desolate Moor
Of doldrums. One whose thatches
Of love marred with coldness of snow.

For there came a strange day
When winds of hate in robes of sorrow
Assailed her, buffeted her thatches away
Thus now but a roofless heart evermore.

My heart is but a Hut
Of despair amid a desolate Moor
Of memorabilia. A heart now but a Hut
Plumed with golden moments evermore.