I asked her, in her tiny bed
While covering her toes,
If any lasting words, unsaid,
Would carry out in oath.

Her wrinkled nose in painful pose,
She turned to face my own.
A dainty little folded note,
She placed into my hold.

But as her breath kept dry, she died,
No subtlety shone through;
Nothing left to recollect,
No substance but the truth.

Behind me not a word was drawn
But in this lasting reach.
With hesitation come and gone
I so began to read:

“Dry your eyes and with your fingers
Wrap my body, soft and limber,
Or Release my ashes before the winter
(Scatter them in clay).”

I asked her, from her tiny lips,
The need to be alone,
If any lasting words, unsaid,
Would carry out in oath.

Her gentle eyes, in pity, smiled;
She turned and gestured no.
And followed still, with all her will
She forced at me a note.

But when no words gave birth, she died;
No sunny days shone through.
Nothing left but to repent,
No substance like the truth.

Behind me, with the curtains drawn,
I felt the teardrops bleed.
With hesitation come and gone
I so began to read:

“When Spring comes thaw, come with your two hands,
Plant lilies, daisies, roses and
Placed in the earth they’ll form to stand,
To feed me sun and rain.”