The Last Night
Her little bird bones grasping for comfort
Against one golden laden ring
The story book life coming to a close,
Now rediscovered by those left behind.
For little blue aquamarines can only shine for so long,
Before shutting off the lights and slinking back home.
Little girls catch frail shuddering wings,
Pinning them against a cheek or two,
Spindles of structure cold against life.
The tiny claws too close to comfort
Would never dare to rip the flesh
But rather raise the worm to her young.
Words tumble as barren as the activity around
Fallen by the glass armor worn by those surrounding,
Little blue veins still flowing, but only in strife.
So now to reveal our intentions to retire,
This is goodnight and not goodbye.
But something in that soul still sparked,
Speaking to us,
A tear or two to roll and fall
Admonition of our last night.