A distant sound,
heard through clouded ears;
still aware of its presence.

The chattering has ceased,
casting empty glances
on what once existed.

Yet it exists still,
confined to the archives;
the memories of yesterday.

Pink and purple expels its vapour,
drying on a solo heater;
a garment of warmth.

A tiger lies near by,
silence not quite here,
a mantra continually repeated.

A final movement,
all becomes quiet,
as the rain continues to fall.

FM
© Fiona Meyrick
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