In Passing

The shadows tremble as she passes
The curtains waver in the gloom
Her gown trails across the floor
But no step echoes in this lost room

She addresses solitude
The isolation of a tired soul
Her cool hand felt upon his brow
Saying he will no longer be alone

Her hand guides his as he begins to write
The words coming in the dead of night
Free flowing with so much to use
The legacy of his late muse.