A stroke --
Was it lightning
Or the cause of death?
Up a narrow staircase
The pungent scent of flowers
Fill the deadroom.
Lying in a coffin,
Dressed in garments fine,
Grey pallor smiling,
What does that face divine?
Are you pleased to leave
This house that creaks in the cold?
Has the world stooped your shoulders?
Was your death your final bow?
Two candles illuminate your head,
Purple lids cover dazed eyes.
What is that you see
There on the other side?
