Lace, we remember, faded lace
To filter light and veil the panes
Against the external day.
The light was intermeshed with lace
Upon the wall, fastidious,
In patterns subtle as decay
And intricate as pain:
Like pinks and greens on carcasses,
Beyond our reach, above the veil
Where knowledge knit with pain and death
Shimmered, the sun’s rays
Burst through the panes and cast a pale
Rectangular frieze upon the wall,
Whose colours told of summer days,
Whose pallor told of death;
Where he could watch what he recalled
Advancing, as he told each tale.