WHITHER MY WILLOW
I sleep past noon, head deep in the pillow
Rain on the roof and the wind does billow;
No will to rise since the death of Willow.
For more than thirty years we shared a bed,
Then from out of hell a stroke struck her dead.
Life ever since has been unliving dread,
Devoid of will I am locked in the past
Remembering the years that passed so fast
Me the vagabond and Willow steadfast
Always there for me at journeys end
My wife, my soulmate and best friend.
Now in death, did she ascend or descend
Rise to the sky or stay down in the earth
Is it oblivion as before birth
Or in realms unknown spiritual rebirth?
Knowing her eternal destination
Might bring about merciful cessation
To my own life sentence of damnation.
I do not expect an answer real soon
I do not expect the gods to commune
Thus I stay in bed till way past noon.