A Dead Past

Spare her at least… look, you have taken from me
The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan
The Future too, with all her glorious promise
But do not leave me utterly alone

Spare me the Past – for, see, she cannot harm you
She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud
All my own… and, trust me, I will hide her
Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud

I folded her soft hands upon her bosom
And strewed my flowers upon her – they still live
Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eyelids
And think of all the joy she used to give

Cruel indeed it were to take her from me
She sleeps, she will not wake – no fear – again
And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen
Quietly on my heart to still its pain

I do not think that any smiling Present
Any vague Future, spite of all her charms
Could ever rival her. You know you laid her
Long years ago, then living, in my arms

Leave her at least – while my tears fall upon her
I dream she smiles, just as she did before
As dear as ever to me – no, it may be
Even dearer still – since I have nothing more

(For my mom, Carol A. Walker Scroggins
March 1st, 1948 - May 5th, 2009)