The embers turn cold,
destined for eternity,
as quaint anecdotes forever retold,

splintered lives,
fractured memories,

needling pain,
worn-down by time,

stranded on the shores,
exposed to the chiselling rain,

yet,

out of the ashes,
new moments are spun,

fragrant buds of blossoming life,
enraptured by promises,
of years yet to come,

so,

step out of the cold, wet rain,
into a harmonious symmetry,
bathed in radiant rays,
of the molten sun,

out of the ashes,
are born,
new melodies,

and,

a new song,
yet to be sung