I stood silently by your bed.

Looking into your eyes,

I could see the light fading,

Darkness treading on your soul.

Your throat, clearly parched,

Grilled to imperfection.

Gravel words

Of desperation I did not understand.

I tried to hold your hand,

Cold and leathern as it was.

Death was taking hold,

Not to be denied.

No more smiles,

No more warm words,

No more time,

For either of us.

I thought goodbye,

No words would come,

And like a coward, I departed,

Not to call again.

                                   _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _

Owain Glyn