Burnt Silk Leaves No Ash
Or Trace of it's Existence
Like An Empty Finished Romance or When The Music Finishes
After
The
Last
Slow
dance.

Like Used Imagination or Dead Man's Memory it Leaves No Legacy For The soft Cocoon or Caterpillar
To Call It's own.

As The Hoarfrost Melts Upon The Lawn
Or The Dew Disappears With the dawn
Eventually
When death Appears to Claim Your Soul,
Whose There to Say You Ever Lived At all?