If I could write your story
The book would not be short,
Endless the territory
To cover my report—
And who would be to read it,
When all have stories too,
Nor I myself do need it,
Memory-charged all through.
Yet—lingered on each moment—
I think what I would say,
How love survives entombment
Despite the death that day.
Before you left you kissed me
Profusely if at all,
As if to tell you missed me
Before that death blow fall.
I whispered but “I’m sorry”
Before you fell asleep,
My last words—as life’s worry
Fell from you, death to keep.
Your falling was not easy
But came remorseless quick,
My swooning soul made queasy
In the solemn air made thick.
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