Visitation.

            For Diana.

In the early dawn I felt a touch,

Heard a soft voice whisper “Come”;

A pause and then that voice again:

“Your race you have now run”.

I shook my head, withdrew my hand,

I weakly whispered no.

How can I leave this woman

Sitting quietly by the window?

O Mr Death I cannot come!

Gaze upon this sweet vignette:

Morning’s growing light is

Softly framing her silhouette.

She and I have things to do,

Loving not yet completed,

So now I hear my own voice vow

“I will not by you be defeated.”

When you some other time return

I must indeed merely follow

And so doing say goodbye to this

Quintessence of joy and sorrow.

But now I feel the warmth of her touch

Make your cold grip fall away,

And weakly turning towards the light

I embrace once more the coming day.