An old silver church in a forest Is my love for you. The trees around it Are words that I have stolen from your heart. An old silver bell, the last smile you gave, Hangs at the top of my church. It rings only when you come through the forest And stand beside it. And then, it has no need for ringing, For your voice takes its place.
No fawn-tinged hospital pajamas could cheat him of his austerity,
Which tamed even the doctors with its pure fire.
They examined him; made him bow to them: …