The stones recall forgotten flame,
They etch your beauty in their name.
And though their lips are cold and mute,
They hum your grace in soft pursuit.

The roses hush, the dusk delays,
It crowns you in a gentle haze.
The hours fall, the shadows bend,
To guard your glow until the end.

The ivy sways, the night grows mild,
It leans to greet the twilight’s child.
The wall is warm, the silence deep,
It holds the glow it longs to keep.