I miss that room

I miss that room where favourite poems hung,

the sweetest bed, the best of furniture…

The last song of the skylark has been sung

and shadows show where things familiar were.

Foolish it is to think that any art

of paint or words can fill the empty space

that once possessed us, heart and loving heart,

returning us a moment to that place.

Eternities of emptiness are worse

than empty where they once held you

with all the happy memories I nurse

now underwritten with  a last adieu.

‘Don’t die before me’, once I heard you say.

I have been faithful to you then, in that hard way.