Slowly like the Cheshire cat, if there’s any justice
At first the flesh and then a mist until there’s simply nothing
I can’t forget that she forgave the fact that I forgot
It seems the breeze- the days and dreams- have stolen what was lost
But now there’s nothing left, it seems
But memories and faulty thoughts.
So let us inter the past
With the could have beens and oughts-

Such pretense has no power here
Stripped bare of grace and charm
The Cheshire cat is gone for good
Yet where he was is warm.