OBITUARY

I gaze at your image torn from the page
Of my paper today. It seems that age
Has but lent swan’s wings to your grace;
Frosted temples, muted hues, ah… your face
Arouses poignant memories of years
Long ago. I am weary of many things. Tears
Have fallen as you vowed to me they would.
I view past actions differently now. Could
I ask that you forget past bitterness?
Can I tell you that only tenderness
Reaches across the great chasm that surged
Between us. I want to say that I am purged
Of indulgent desires and worldly gains,
And that through it all one constant remains;
In my shadowy life of deception
And fault, there is a single exception.
If I was untrue
It was never to you.
The paper says that death has kept its date.
And all I have to say to you I say too late.

© Lynne Harris