Only The Wind Poem by David Lewis Paget

They laid her out on a plastic sheet
Where she stared unseeingly,
With nothing to cover her naked form
When they said, ‘Come in and see.'
I thought how she would be mortified
To be naked under their gaze,
But she was laid in the mortuary
For this was her end of days.

That final humiliation is saved
To be served at the end of life,
They saw her just as an empty shell,
But I, as my loving wife.
She still looked stunning, and had the form
That would peak any man's desire,
But all of life had been ripped and torn
Before she entered the fire.

They'd taken her kidneys, liver too,
And had left some ugly scars,
But her gorgeous breasts, and that little nest
Were left, for they had been ours.
I'd not have shared her with anyone,
We'd sucked at each other's breath,
But she had signed for her organs, so
I had to share her with death.

I heard the crackle of flames behind
The grim steel plate of the door,
That they would open, and thrust her in
Just like a victim of war,
The horror tales of the holocaust
Came flitting across my brain,
That final test that would scorch the flesh
And all I could feel was pain.

She's sitting up on the mantlepiece
In an urn of marble and stone,
A red ribbon sash, surrounding her ash,
I couldn't leave her alone.
I hear her sigh in the early hours
As she did, whenever we sinned,
And wander around our lonely house,
Perhaps, it's only the wind.

13 November 2017