Its former tenant long since fled
to wherever Mollusks go..
Its’ empty shell rests on my shelf
For years that has been so.

I took it down the other day,
intending just to dust.
A mote, or something, caused a tear.
Was it perhaps, a thought of us?

We walked along the Islands shore
As old, practiced, couples do.
We found this shell half buried
And I rescued it for you.

We had a fine collection
On the shelf above our bed
Until your former flame returned
And you, like summer, fled.

Triangles are eternal
constructs pleasing to the mind
But this one proved ephemeral
being the romantic kind,

I raise the Conch Shell to my lips
And give a practiced blow.
Its low sweet song a threnody
For days of long ago