Before It Becomes Too Late Poem by Lynn W. Petty

Death, be not unkind.
Do not hold her long in your embrace.
Do not cause more pain by her unwanted continuance of this life.
I know that transition is inevitable, though I grieve
to think of her departure.
Suffering in the vacuum of her absence,
I shall not mourn, lest my mourning hinder the flight of her soul.
But, hold just a while that I may talk with her.
That I may say the things I should have said:
of her courage;
of the void she has filled in my life;
of my love for her.
Why do we wait to say the things we should
have said.
What? I have said those things before, you say?
Surely not. Surely, not enough times.
I fear she does not know.
You say I delay conclusion? Yes, if I could.
Reluctantly, I let go of her soul that it may fly
like a fragment of dawn, reflecting upon the face
of the Waters.
As an impassioned phrase from some familiar
line of verse that touches one's heart, a majestic
quiescence moves across her face.
Deep sleep.
Closure of this sojourn is now complete.