Something in the still grey of her eyes,
As she stood beside his bed
And stroked his feverish head,
Told me life and death were lies.
Something in the calmness of her gaze
As she pulled the crinkled sheet
Down over his restless feet|
Told me nights were days.
As I watched her my thoughts grew;
Yet when he died
I felt less sure of all I knew,
For… she cried.