She walked with beauty and elegant grace,
but sadness worn on her lovely face.
The years had passed that brought her joy.
And a glow that burnt so long ago.
A memory so dim, of how her heart was won.

He was always full of joy,
A joke and a laugh,
And hands that knew a metals worth and how to bend it to his will.
I knew him not but in stories only,
of how he spoke in earnest with rare and even temperament.
Who knew his time was short?
That time would come and go
And leave only scars and distant laughter spent.

But this was a love story true and real,
I know because she told me.
She was the storyteller, the one who cried the tears.
Who told of listening to the music he would play and tell me of how she danced with him.
Though the years have past and so has she, I remember and so must we.