Poem By Rolland Heiss

She was young and sweet and saint-like when we laid her in the grave
With hair the shade of Auburn, flowing 'cross her breast in waves
Her lips looked soft and gentle, as if she simply slumbered
We gave her body back to dust, her soul left unencumbered

Still, envied I the mud and clay, when we laid her down to rest
For I would ever long to hold the sweetness they possessed
And I would ever long to sleep as gently by her side
As that unforgiving loam that stole away my promised bride

Before we closed her casket on that sad and tearful morn
A gentle dropp of rain did fall, upon her face was bourne
Aye, fell from heaven's lofty height, upon her cheek for all to see
As though my dearly departed love had shed a tear for me

Sleep my dearest Madeline. Give no thought to the mud and clay
Your one true love was never vain; he loves you anyway
And I shall wait forevermore, to join you up above
Some call it madness; obsession. I call it requited love.

© April 2003

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