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elegy



 The night that I cried for his lost gray life , my heart  fell open like an old music box , rolling through lost notes and never - gripped hands .  It played for the one who had polished the works , who wound the key till my voice began , then set me on a singing plane . It  s your time , he said , and then it was his time . I  ll let you go . I said , as if I could to or hold him again . Now I rail against time to hear the voice , to get home . Scarab in the sandstorm , maddened by wind .



The night that I cried for his lost gray life, my heart  fell open like an old music box, rolling through lost notes  and never-gripped hands.





 The night that I cried for his lost gray life , my heart  fell open like an old music box , rolling through lost notes and never - gripped hands .  It played for the one who had polished the works , who wound the key till my voice began , then set me on a singing plane . It  s your time , he said , and then it was his time . I  ll let you go . I said , as if I could to or hold him again . Now I rail against time to hear the voice , to get home . Scarab in the sandstorm , maddened by wind .

The night that I cried for his lost gray life , my heart fell open like an old music box , rolling through lost notes and never - gripped hands . It played for the one who had polished the works , who wound the key till my voice began , then set me on a singing plane . It s your time , he said , and then it was his time . I ll let you go . I said , as if I could to or hold him again . Now I rail against time to hear the voice , to get home . Scarab in the sandstorm , maddened by wind .





Terrie Shattuck, author of this poem
poet's blog