Tho' I have aged, her grave appears as new;
Instilled in time with time that stole her youth,
Belaying 'neath the cruelest mire - death knew
To stain the satin dress that dawned love's truth.
When winds alike too take my oldest breaths
And rests my lonely sheath for lasting sleep,
Will I by spirit-in it's soulful depths -
Recast thereby my angel of the deep?
If not: let worms leave that of love and mine,
By her my love did know and there shall dust
And all my remnants form her name to pine;
The nothing which awaits my ardent rust.
To when my grey becomes the coldest stone
Shall light or dust reveal my ever known.