The good Lord saved her a visit,

a visit she knew that involved pity.

The rain had been falling patter-pitter,

which was the way of rain these recent days.

 

They lay dying side-by-side, terminally ill.

He was lucky: the greatest love, he had gone.

She was left to pick up the grained pain,

left smeared and trickling on the pillow.

 

He had said before closing his eyes,

"After you," - polite as ever, and smiling.

And a black, small space opened a notch.

An aim, "We were going to shoot at the heart."

 

She then arose and tucked in the sighs.

The room may have clouded in petals

but she had her duties to perform,

involving a mop, a bucket and a cross

 

- and a very sad conversation that night.