believe the voices falling down the rift
of fading memory all lost to time
recall the faces touched with soot and grime
in days so clear and calm they seemed to drift
through subtle air and now all is too swift
hardly a moment between every chime
the downslope now but we were on the climb
and had not valued the taste of the gift
so here the choice is made and in the cold
dark of the rainy afternoon each deep
cutting word is truly cruel in its burn
the message is expected we turn old
and each day must bring reasons more to weep
even this day at eve of sunreturn