Winter Love Letter
When winter winds with bluster blew, I dwelled in COVID’s deadly queue.
Entombed in this ICU bed, so long I’ve lain here nearly dead,
thinking only of sweets thoughts of you,
wanting only the warm touch of you.
Through sixty years our love has grown - the greatest gift that I have known.
To die apart in deep despair seems such foul fortune, so unfair.
“Please Lord, don’t let me die here alone,”
I prayed, “don’t let me die here alone.”
In death’s realm of desperation, raging, craving respiration,
vital signs were in regression, I sank deep into depression.
Four weeks of woe ... no visitation,
my mandate was more isolation.
While winter’s grip of grief there grew, my heart and soul held fast to you,
while gasping, gasping for my breath, so certain I would soon know death,
were it not for the brave health-care crew,
and my longing to come home to you.
Then stood Satan, so surreal, seeking souls to stalk or steal.
I tried in vain but could not speak because my ravaged lungs were weak.
I was tempted to make him a deal,
for your warm touch one last time to feel.
Then through my window’s wintry frost, there blazed a beacon for the lost.
A Christmas star burns bright this year, heralding hopes for change and cheer.
I knew then thresholds had been crossed,
and that I’d won, and the virus lost.
My ventilator days are through, my thanks go to the health-care crew.
Since the solstice days grow longer; slowly I am growing stronger.
Soon I’ll be home to winter with you,
all I need in the new year is you.
Copyright © Eric Cohen | Year Posted 2020
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