Last Lace of Self Somewhere

So they die, and their days die,
Or go, let’s say, go, going
Being key feature of death,

Trying to recall their minds,
Which are busily learning
Life with less recollection.

They fade out of their presence,
Absences in their own work,
Or the work stops. Less and less,

And their fans rarely notice,
That the voices they cherished
Rarely spoke out near the end.

That’s the work you’d love to find,
Lace of self lost to new mind.