Heeding the Grave in Earnest
I tarry at my husband’s grave,
Sore yearning for his ghost,
The man to whom I cleaved so tight—
Twas he I didst love most.
Mine sun of hope, mine shrine of praise!
Mine center night and day!
Twas under him I leapt for shade,
When storms didst plague my way!
In strident fear or dank despair,
He’d lift me from the gloom,
He’d weave me into happiness,
Like thread upon his loom.
And standing in mine garb so proud—
A soul adorned in light,
I’d swagger through the town so gay,
In rapture and delight.
A palsy cast him low in health,
When in two weeks he died,
Unto his fond creator bound;
To brighter heaven’s side.
The misery cut like a scythe,
My vines of love pruned short,
And here, today, in stark dismay,
I’m wet in weeping caught.
I pray to thee, my husband true!
Now gone to sleep in Christ,
My lot — a sorry window, lost,
His being sacrificed.
I harbour in mine breast a flame,
Remembrance flick’ring soft,
I’ll still hold true, aye, without you,
I’ll pray for you so oft…
AD Lovkis, 19/08/25
adamdaniel 