Upon the eve of my demise I was so enchanted
that I could not quite surmise what my mind spied.
Moments later I grew surprised as I realized it was you
My darling, my dear, my sweet. I know you, though you may deny
the old sorrow by which we cried. Upon this play you've cast,
upon my life our souls intertwined.  and eventually your breath too.

A poem of love, or so I am told, is the greatest cure for this willow.
A moment of sorrow, or so I am told, is the medicine I do seek.
A lifetime of regret, I require to ****, as I weep into this pillow.
A hand of warmth, is all I asked, as my spirit begins to grow meek.