I often sit in Migu’s in ceaseless memory.
A face devoid of thought or love.

Two old friends meeting again
remembering how the summer shone
Now to make winter by the Fen.

The women steps lightly into this place
Her pretty face pitiful in this silence.
I want to ask her ‘Are you alone?’

But now the noiseless dark descends
and punctuates the dead sleep of this cold grave.