The dawn of your arrival-
Was cold, the spotted daffodils grew
On the windowsill.
Tired of reading by the window,
I got up and surveyed the mantel.
A picture of my godfather;
An old coin from England, 1928.
The books were faded and dusty.
I was alone in this harsh winter,
The summary of your years were behind you.
The light was faded and new.
Dust behind us grew softly;
The wind fluttered in the breeze.
War was a light thing,
Made of sauce and mixed with
Nothing makes me feel better,
Not even death-
Long and faded,
Death was he.
You entered through the door.