Flames flickered in the fireplace,
As memories on the hearth of life;
Two shadows we, watching, brooding,
To catch our reflection
In a non-existent stream.
The ghost-witness of it all,
The clock brings its proofs;
Moments melt into moments,
Like notes of sad music,
Like a white cerement.
Cold memories shroud our life;
Speech flees before this;
Faces turn away from each other;
The fire throws light on them;
There, too, flames burn and flicker.