WHEN I'M GONE

I picked up needles to make stitches;

Clean ones, neatly sewn in a straight line.

Stepped into your life strewn with hitches,

And made timely stitches to save nine.

You screamed out loud when the winds blew rough,

And I answered your call of terror.

Swam to reach you through waves tall and tough,

And heaved till I could get you ashore.

I plucked roses from the jaws of death,

Spread them like smiles on your bed called life.

Gifts I gave that took away your breath,

Those moments that showed I'd eased your strife.

I had moved the earth to give you peace,

To be that one friend– that friend indeed.

But as I blinked, fortunes went amiss!

Alas! No friend in my time of need.

Now, on my deathbed, I just wonder

Where you are in my moment of pain.

Clouds race above as I slip under,

Chased by solemn thoughts and a migraine.

Hear the reaper call in his sweet voice!

He calls me towards an austere dawn!

In this, my friend, know you have no choice;

You will surely miss me when I'm gone.

Or will you...? Will you?

©T.F.C.