I will speak with you dear friend
Though my heart aches
And all our beauty offends
This state of disintegration.

For my love carries to the end
Its bruised fruit
Resting down upon a table
Where we shared.

And every brush stroke
Stole my eye a surprise
And I never cried for sorrow
On that wooden chair.

I will speak with you dear friend
For if this be our last time
Let the apple and the pear
Bear the departing hour.

Love Mary