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Rose Gallery, Brompton Hospital
A Poem by:
Anthony Bavin
Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author.
No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording
or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.
In a quiet room,
Her mother and I at the bed,
She fought and fought for life,
And lost; and was dead.
Time stopped,
Her soul flew out of the window,
Free, free from strife,
Flesh transfigured.
Tears welled,
The distance grew sickeningly wider,
Ours, ours was the grief,
For her soul had fled.
Goodbye!
Your memory stays with us ever,
Though the wind, like the Spectre's knife,
Carries you over the river.
Anthony Bavin
Copyright © 1999 |
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