Father, since always now the death to come
Looks naked out from your eyes into mine,
Almost it seems the death to come is mine
And that I also shall be overcome,
Father, and call for breath when you succumb,
And struggle for your hand as you for mine
In hope of comfort that shall not be mine
Till for the last of me the angel come.
But, father, though with you in part I die
And glimpse beforehand that eternal place
Where we forgot the pain that brought up there,
Father, and though you go before me there,
Leaving this likeness only in your place,
Yet while I live, you do not wholly die.
--Donald Justice
No comments:
Post a Comment