there are no memoirs like embers
fables of her', I etched with a gale of a mother torn of her own
and the muse of one spared lest her lone
but there are no memoirs like embers or muses like the fall of dawn,or vigils that waste the nights away,
such don their hearts on their sleeves, burning cold through longings unabridged, heralds of destiny and daughters of time
L