The Gates of Night

Sept. 30, 2005

Yes, I have read the poetry of death

And eulogies so eloquent of life

Yet drew in pain each shallow, lonely breath

While sorrow cut me as a surgeon's knife

Pierces the body's walls to heal the heart.

I walk in a penumbra of the sun

Or an eclipse from which I cannot part.

Three years have passed, the healing scarce begun

But slowly as I wander in a haze

Of memories of bright and tranquil hours

When the light of the beloved filled my days

And every path was strewn with dappled flowers.

My soul's companion flown from earthly sight

Now I am left to front the gates of night.