Had that pillow caressed your feeble head
More than ever my hand could?
In such comfort that death could provide
To your ever-more feeble body
With its trembling motions, alike the quivering leaves during Autumn,
I see your chest raise itself, to a peak,
And fall down,
You may be ill,
Though, you are in comfort.
And, I am jealous of death,
“To have and to hold,”
As I once said, while our worlds collided,
And never were burned,
Unless beneath sheets, made for that familiar singe.
Death will embrace you
Better than myself.
And, I will be seated here, as a witness.
Comforted by what death provides
The pillow and the bed, beside
Your enamored and lifted sighs,
Safety is now where you reside.
Upon the world’s end, I look across
To see a face that once begged, in a plea.
Stillness was once for your form,
When I touched its warmth.
And now when death has its arms about yourself,
You feel warmth in the coldness.