Tales of things past, most forgotten.
grey slabs of tomb stand half-askew
as if in earnest telling. Words
upon their faces, epitaphs of
lives lived long ago.

And on my face is it etched as clear?
Lines of long-forgotten loves
creased in careworn folds of sorrow,
memory detritus of
love-moments long-since fled.

Lichens invade grey slabs.
An application of nature’s remedy,
softening chiselled outlines,
and leaving things once said
Unsaid

And thus my own worn features,
feeble witnesses to future
faltering falsehoods, also blur,
as the arrow of love’s ageing
chills my yearning heart.