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Bea Early


In The End


You are the father of my son
And when all is said and done
You were not the only one
But I will have to say I loved you.

Not a kind or tender love
But the sort of love that stays
Through the many nights and days
Through the sickness and the ways
Of your long dying.

In the winter of our lives
We are together in the end,
Not as lovers, but as friends,
In your dying I will tend
To your sweet dreams.

Our son will live on past us
He surely will outlast us
We endure what fate has cast us
You die before me.

I will miss you, yes, my friend
Now that we are at the end
Glad we had the time to mend,
Still I have one wish to send,
Let God be with you.

Submitted: Friday, December 21, 2007
Edited: Monday, May 02, 2011

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  • Bernard Henrie (3/8/2008 11:03:00 PM)

    Bea-such a wise, such a sad and mature poem; how rare to see a child introduced into the love knot, how rare to see aging; how rare and yet very satisfying to find a poem working through the stages that so often compose a life, if we are fortunate and loving enough to experience a long life.

    bernie (Report) Reply

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