If I should die,

And should it be that

You would share

One part of all the joy I have taken

In seeing you smile;

If I should pass over,

And should it be that

In my passing

You come to remember my nearness,

And know one half

Of the need I had

To be with you then;

If I should die,

And should it be that

In my leaving you should feel

One part of all the passion I have taken as

I burn for you;

Then the sting at the end of the broken finger

On the still flailing arm of Death

Is blunted for me –

That crooked knife, held in whispering fingers

Of sudden arm, shall take

A cut less deep from me.

For from the depths of blanketed pitchest

Black day,

To the soaring shouting heights of most glorious night,

That ring in my heart with Golden song,

Rising to the light

Lifting to the height of tall,

I love you to my sinew and very bone.

My desire?

That if I go before,

And in my going you can say

"Here was one who loved me more than any other,"

Then I shall rest in peace,

And wait, and wait for you;

Ever with you,

'Til you join me there.

Sycloboy

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