A love letter to death,
Penned in crimson and gold,
And for one fleeting moment
We return to what’s old.

The distant crescent moon
Is her alabaster smile,
And I plead, if she can hear,
“Won’t you please stay awhile?”

But heed she does not,
For December’s hour is nigh,
Though she leaves me her smile
To remember her by.

And when I think back with longing
On our golden reverie,
She reminds me through the leaves
Memento mori…