How sweet the memory of those once loved
whose lives were all too brief.
They have gone, closing the door behind them
and turned the key in the lock
making no plans for their return
leaving memories like dusty cobwebs
for us to remember them by.
They have passed out of life like a shadow
when the sun has spent its day
leaving a vacancy that can’t be filled by anyone new.
Like a butterfly unfolding its wings
they disappeared, fragile as a flower
that blooms only for a season
and then, too soon fades from view
or like a sunset remembered by its afterglow.
© Frank L. Dawson