the days fly away as ash from a fire,
drifting, spiraling up with the night breeze
things that once were, now burned away
small pieces of nothing, once something.

the days fly away as ash from a fire,
fuel for bright raging life now spent
bits of absence carried to the stars
too small to notice where they go.

the days fly away as ash from a fire,
lost to the four corners and beyond,
once alive with verdant possibility
now consumed by the light it brought.