Post Mortem

After something is dead...

Some cryptic line has told your time

In words addressed to other friends,

And often pen has poured the wine: Remorse,

To slake the word: Amends;

Your love has won the awful flame

That burns regretful at the breach,

What carping conscience serves as mine

To set your world beyond my reach?

 

I’ve told the tale in other plays,

Enacted portions of the dream

But no-one knows completed days that

Seem to seem not what they seem!

You leave some flicker in my brain

That flares impassioned, wantonly,

That dares to whisper, yet again:

‘Some part of you is all of me!’

 

David Lewis Paget