Nestled in your bones,
Ravens cloaked in black;
Murmurs, whispers, cackles—
soaring into the good night
by the Grey mist.
Clothes all torn; Worn;
tightened with spider webs.
Holding my grip by
my wrinkled bare hands—
Your gnarled roots all wet!
Soaked; Below my slippers
in the midst of silence,
as my shadow trips
on to your solemn face.
Did you know?
Did you know that
I held you in my
soft, young palms
seventy years ago?
I thank you,
my precious dear ally,
for keeping my wilted
dead red rose warm,
as my heart broke apart.
Now it's time.
For you shall engulf
my stone dome grave
with your gentle heart.
For I shall close my eyes
with my final breath.
Before I ask you;
Entomb it for me,
will you?