Were we to pass as strangers in the fray
As lost newspapers, or such fleeting things.
Were we adequate strangers today
Who in the wintered wind may drift.

And were you not of basalt built
A Pillar stacked in greying sea
Weather-worn still weathering
But eroded not to frailty

Were we but strangers today
I could chance upon a greater strength
As like stone you are worn away
By tempests which you fought at length.

While now we wait in whitened rooms
As morphine pump lets out a rasp
I wish I were a basalt being
For I had missed your final gasp.