At the fallen portico An arrogant wind rocked the last beam. I walked upon fragrant bones Where hopeless rose bouquets Touched desperate clambered palms Of the garish unnoticed. Grandfather wound his watch Coughing blood in to ironed silk Ignoring and noticing changes Exuding wry misery Glimpsing at the only glance of happiness Till it fell, like doomed seams of icing. Her vanilla gown was lifted Like spirits sighting Our hesitant kiss on still lips. Gray expressions sauntered Through glimmering colour And clinking claps, As Grandfather clamoured To the vol au vents.