Yellow dust on a bumble <br />bee's wing, <br />Grey lights in a woman's <br />asking eyes, <br />Red ruins in the changing <br />sunset embers: <br />I take you and pile high <br />the memories. <br />Death will break her claws <br />on some I keep.<br /><br />Carl Sandburg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/troths/
