I don't feel death coming,
no, not yet.

Neither is he going,
having thrown up his hands,
for the moment still
standing on my doorstep.

Yet, I feel like I know him
better than that,
those arms that held me
for a while, like a friend.

And when we meet again,
there will be between us
a secret bond to ponder on.

Though should he choose to tarry
upon my worn stone stoop,
I hope he will listen to my stories
of all the weight I’ve carried
for so far, and far too long.

fin

"Unknown" HP Author