Last Words Poem by Peter Jones

Do not call my name, nor grieve.
Neither fear some false deceiving pain
Borne aloft by memories.
But weave a leitmotif
In happy covenant
With some well-remembered then.

For in the amber of your stare
I am trapped,
And so may join your celebration
Of how it is, and where,
And how it was when I was there.

For these remain:
A plain song, keeping time;
To echo and re-echo now.
But even this will die away,
As die it should, in soft decline.
But I will know how well you heard:
How well you understood