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
