The moment of our last goodbye,
you almost lying in your coffin,
me too curious for questions,
so dark it was that evening,
one lamp burning where you lied,
the morgue in the old people’s home.
Your eyes, still open, seemed surprised
that death had taken you. I left, but
kept the light on later in the night.
You never came to haunt me though.
My guess is that you felt alright
where ever they had made you go.
And sometimes when the day is grey
and all cries death, I share your view,
the last time that you took a breath.