Final Departure
By John Herlihy

These are the premonitions that accompany me by day;
These are whispers that make clear what they have to say;

I hear a voice you cannot hear,
. . . that says I must not stay.
I listen to music that draws me nigh,
. . . that has me utter a melancholy sigh.
I hear my own footsteps on cobblestones,
. . . that echo in the night in diminishing tones.
I see an outstretched hand you cannot see,
. . . that beckons from the distance in front of me.
I now gaze upon a profound mystery,
. . . that in this world you will never see.
I now reflect upon the infinite world to come,
. . . that you cannot consider as a finite sum.

I taste a draft you cannot taste,
. . . that I must now drink in haste.
I will soon taste the drops of golden nectar,
. . . that are not reserved in the earthly sector.
I will soon smell the perfume of celestial blooms,
. . . that have never entered your earthly rooms .
I will soon get a whiff of an otherworldly breeze,
. . . that will fill me with joy as I fall on my knees.
I will soon give up the earthly pleasure of touch,
. . . that I treasured here on earth and loved so much.
I will soon be touched by the mystery of another kind,
. . . that will lift me far beyond any reckoning of mind.

These are the premonitions that accompany me by day;
These are the whispers that in old age find their own way.