The bed is too wide,

The bed is too wide,

The room too big

An expanse,

To be filled with dreams.

The dressing table

A tumble of personality.

A creation of jars,

Potions and lotions,

A used wipe

Smeared with a grime

Though finely gathered,

Too deeply ingrained

To forget.

Hair brush recollections,

Perfume memories,

Remember me sprays.

Look at me jewellery

Pushed carelessly aside.

An old carriage clock

Set five minutes fast.

It never did hurry

Anybody up.

The house weeps,

Hear its sigh

Become a whisper

Of acceptance,

As her scent

Seeps slowly into the walls,

Old bones.

And in the doleful

Dissolve,

There is no substance,

To the mourners touch,

Just remembrance.