A shadow drapes the mind in grey,
the world grows still — then slips away.
Thoughts scatter softly, one by one,
till even time forgets what’s done.
The names grow dim, the faces blur,
like whispers lost in winds that stir.
Yet something glows, serene, apart —
the stubborn pulse of one brave heart.
And time moves on, serene, austere,
where memory dissolves to mere.
We hold what little will remain —
love’s moment, etched through loss and pain.
Uli Krentz, Trier 2025
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