Look how thin she’s grown

Look how thin she’s grown: as if each year pares
A little more, to where no plumage lies
About her now, and her face, stark and spare,
Full of times deep furrows, reveal those eyes
Looking out at life, full of gentle mirth,
Seeing beyond the confines of the mind,
To the seasons of anguish and rebirth,
That leads her back to me: sad and resigned
I take her hand in mine, each finger now
So old and frail and the slow pulse beating,
As our blood mingles and the steady brow
Of life fades and she becoming fleeting,
A ghostly hue, ephemeral as air.
I see her still, so beautiful and rare.


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