First Mourning Poem by Roy Ballard

Souvent dans la nuit
en entendant la pluie
je vous verrai ici.
Often in the night
listening to the rain
I shall see you here.
It is night. It rains
and I cannot recall the whole of this song
which I wrote on steamed glass
that first morning of your death
on a cold school window.

The coda is complete. The music ends.
The final chord is fingered, let it fall;
in quieter and stiller depths to sound,
to deep remoteness, down, to faint recall.
Ears strain to hold it. Have I got it still?
No! Time is silence and time has its will.