This lass has danced her last dance,
Now is the time for her sleep;
Into the coil of ashes.
As the last verse of the song,
Played in anticipation;
Inside that candle lit room.
Tension begins to flicker,
In simultaneous chime;
Just like a nursery rhyme.
The memories of the past,
The stillness of the present;
The terror of the future.
All sound started to vanish,
Then came the deafening silence;
From the end of that sweet song
The lass paused for a moment,
Trying to compose her self;
While taking a whiff of air.
Then slowly she walks away,
Outside that oak crafted door;
Praying she could dance again.
March 17, 2009
James Callos