What I Knew For Certain Poem by Patti Masterman

When I am dead, I will not know
On which hill the bluebells grow,
Or what spot to watch at night-
To see the morning stars first light.

I will not know your earnest gaze,
Or how a few words can amaze;
The sound of breathing cross the bed,
And loving arm- beneath my head.

Knowing I was not alone
In this echo-vault called home,
With one who knows my ills like me-
Like I know his- but lets it be.

Most of all, I think I'll miss
That very strange and shy first kiss;
Finding both our arms, did fit-
And to laugh at life, with a certain wit.

When you give to one each day,
There's not a lot that’s left to say-
You could have spent them, anywhere-
But still made sure, that you were here.