by Nick Gisburne
I feel the body’s final, fading heat,
But in its cool complexion see no life.
The picture makes my misery complete,
The quiet face of fallen dreams, my wife.
A dozen scattered letters, and a comb.
A handkerchief, with traces of our tears.
Reminders of the house we made a home.
The music and the memories. The fears.
I mourn, but not for yesterdays we lost;
I weep for what we knew could never be.
She longed for life, but not at any cost.
A gift, a blessed ending, set her free.
She begged me not to follow her, to live,
A promise only she could make me give.
