Gossamer net

A faint scent of magnolia.
Cream.
A long time since I remembered.
Since I did.

Gladly I pay the price for remembering.
Sadness.

To let you go with nary a trace
into emptiness
'tis the song of silent little bells.

Walking the hallways of the past
merely to let you live again
Yet it's a rhythm I cannot hear.

Tonight is for holding that white rose in silent song.
One song length of silver bells.

That's all I can afford.

You're gone.
But not into oblivion.