All remaining, was her camisole of old lace,
Replacing old memories of her now distant face,
By her hand once sewn, & upon breast softly
worn,
Now touched by his wept tears, old, faded &
torn.
Her perfume of lavender, still danced &
fingered,
Upon rose petal silk, where his old hand lingered,
Recalling their nights of love, beneath darling
moons,
He hears music in the rustling of lace dancing
tunes.
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