I watch your poem go down in the west
And know old friends are gold without a doubt.
I clasp your hand to wish you my godspeed.
Our epitaph is written in your eyes.
White gulls of snow are swirling through the air.
Perhaps, in token of all mortal flight.
I will not call after departing wings.
Good-bye is such a final winter word.
Somehow the moment seems so windowless.
I cannot see tomorrow through its panes.
And yet I cling with simple childlike faith
To my belief that warmth can never die.
Dedicated to those who have lost friends and loved ones to cancer.
Copyright, Sandra Fowler,2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.