On the Wings of an Ant, Verse 3

Now alone, themes return, music, mine the score ...
Each event remains, every rest leaving by the door.
More than silence can ever fill,
Sometimes the sense of it all
Keeps haunting me still.
Old polyphonies keep retaining truth's preserve,
The patience of years.
And the wasting of the time still remaining's
The greatest of fears.
As I ponder the moment once more
And I savor the chill.