The Tin Man

The Tin Man

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The Seconds have forgotten Their Dance

The Minutes have Long Lost Their Ways,

Hours have Forgotten Their Breath,

Since She Last Averted Her Gaze,

The Dust That Once was His Heart,

Softly Drums its Final Sonata, 

Losing Itself Slowly to the Rising Wind,

Leaving Only a Hollow Bearing Her Stigmata,

The Tin Man Again Looks Up at Her,

Her Smile in Another's Warmer Hand,

As She Rests Against Her Window Sill,

He Whispers a Loving Blessing,

Turns up His Collar,
A Tear-rusted Band,

And Walks off into the Winter Chill,

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There is a Story here, One I wish I didn't have to tell...