a small glowing ember
in the ashes of her heart.
Silent, stolen moment
still locked tight within her,
brief, cherished memory.
Through long lonely years
the memory lingers
now warming the cold days.
Like a lingering dream
in the mind that awakes
is there for the asking.
Ever fresh, ever young,
losing nothing with time.
A small bright candle burns.
(c)Anne Darrison 2008
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