It died a slow death,
That sweet, magical creature…

It took me ages to realize it was dead –
The process of realization,
Prolonged by illusions of life,
Emanating from the non-dead body
Of its former home…

The well of inspiration,
And compassion,
Which perhaps was truly boundless once,
Has dried up,
Or frozen to death…

The period of mourning,
Has come and gone,
And has been survived…

Memories of it still linger,
And embellishing themselves,
As memories do…

Bringing some comfort,
And longing,
As memories do…

The cause of death,
Or causes, I should say,
Were vague,
And inevitable,
As causes tend to be…

It was magical,
And useful,
As friendships tend to be…


As I place this wreathe to thee…