An essence. The thought of presence and what lies beneath.
Lost in translation the ones who speak the same.
The once affectionate Dame.
The lost look.
The once kind game.
The bad and scary Duke.
In the waves of passing time, words get haunted.
Places become empty and full.
The heat turns to cool.
And so the winter comes.
To freeze these fragile gums.
For words to be crystal. To be clear.
What someone lived through this year.
Collective compost of a fear.
So dear. The man has said to know.
Before this year ends.
Before the time bends.
It will snow.
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