Elegy

This is for his wife

      who lay in a pile of death.

The same that he once loved

Yet different, as the cold mask

      replaces the warmth he loved,

      once.

Talk to her; her face will tell

      of all the wrong that came to her.

the only good, the light in him

      befell her dark path

      and lit her way to peace.

She thanks him for delivering her.

He doesn't cry, for she loves still;

Though her heart does not beat,

It holds him there.