No Where To Look But Back

Sprinkled fragments
of her love,
lay strewn upon the floor.
Feather-dusted
from the bed,
the maid will come no more.
Darkwoods lightened
from older age,
and stories long since told.
A figure lingers at the post,
the memories leave her cold.
Time has taken
what spirits could not,
her shadows fill the room.
So still the breeze that passes now,
stirring within the gloom.