Ribbons wrap your letters
Left beside my bed side
That will never see the light

Inside their envelopes
Lie words that you would write
Striving to get better

Each line a new rhyme
Scrawled scrolls for my eyes
Transcribed by a scribe

Not trying to make me cry
Or regret all this time
But my cheeks become wetter

Do not pry my fingers
From the last threads of life
Plucked straight from your sweater

It is you who is deader than I