My Sister

The night my loving sister died,

With her quick delight and clever smile,

I never even cried.

For smaller things I wept with her.

But parting had no meaning

If I could not share with her.

 

The night my loving sister died,

I watched the ebbing of her vital tide,

No more little angers or stubborn pride,

No more pulling physical side.

The pleasures in love’s labors,

The ever righteous bride.

 

The night my loving sister died,

Slipping away on an easy breath,

There seemed for a time still in her flesh,

The ghost of friendly responsiveness,

And in those ever unfolding eyes,

Promise of something that cannot die.

A certain holding on to me

Even in death came as no surprise.