When Death Draws Near and Tarries

Weary countenance, sunken eyes,

Sadness raining from sullen skies,

Matting your hair in tangled locks.

Some foul bird, perched on daddy’s window ledge,

Whistled anguish as a song,

Your mind straining beneath the burden of death tarrying far too long,

Impotent, I tottered before your torment,

Powerless to soften the horror you wrestled with that day.

“It’ll be okay,” mere words spilling folly,

Like some native idiot tongue.

I saw what a poor comforter I was.