This was an early love poem to my wife. It is so early it was written on a typewriter. Remember them? I must have been about 30 at the time. An odd time to consider one's mortality.

Give me an hour in which to die
And in that hour may I behold
A world of honour justice pride
A dying hour in my love's arms.

And as the lights drift slowly out
And march the Caesars in their might
I watch enthralled but not alone
This dying hour in my love's arms.

By her strength and in her right
I fight for light in this hour of dark
I find my sword in her right hand
And in this hour look bravely on.

The Gods laugh while their puppets play
Watching from a celestial garden
Amused by their playthings' games
Of sloth, of hate and unconcern.

Pitted in the blackness of hell
The ghostly hopes of lost men
Withering in a time of pain
And pleading that the hour might end.

From the smoke that belches for
Drifts the horror from my eyes
I have found my love again
Splendid in her crown of glory.

The gulls swoop and swing on high
Free they fly the seas domain
Wait and watch the rolling world
And watch my soul go gladly by. 

Copyright Val Wake 2009