I have loved the sadness of his quiet face,
I have understood the despair in his eyes,
I have known his aura, his hope, his grace,
And the age-old guilt which in his soul lies.
I have soothed his brow and felt the blades,
I have tried to ease constant pain by touch;
He’s love to me, and now when all life fades,
Death, when compared to this love, is not much.
I have chosen enveloping darkness,
I have spurned the last of the passing ships,
I have shunned every sign of weakness,
For the memory of his eyes, his lips.
If Aman promised me my share of bliss,
I care not, for, in his heart, I have this.