by Luis G. Dato

Ailing and feverish, I’ve come to you,
Deeming that if my fate it be to die,
All ministered by folk that we both knew.
Did I perhaps come here to bid
And send to you my ultimate earthly cry?
If so, if fate wills it, I well know why
My last subconscious thought would be for you.

For now, to tell you, dear, is there yet need,
How much, how deeply you have wrought my fate?
And how, without you life is meaningless?
O pity not that this my heart should bleed
On its last way, in vain and futile wait,
If love’s not love, death would be kind caress!

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