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Until the end
Gilded silence, gold,
The last leaves' silent fall
Pain silent Late autumn’s
Slow crepuscule
She turns her hands in her apron
Blue patterns, blue
Her smile will never die
The swans swing south sighing
Evening comes soon, sooner,
She insists, at the stove, heat, red,
Redder, the last meals we try
Not to take for granted
Quiet dying, quiet, the colour
Runs slowly from her skin,
Her eye turned inward blindly
On her own long dissolution
We walk we talk we baulk
At the black pall, black,
Open our eyes only once the
Stiff ground engulfs her
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