Dying

Quietly she comes, I know not when;
Creepingly she moves, I know not how;
Searchingly she sees, I know not what;
Silently she speaks, I hear no sound.
Doped into sleep I lie and wait her touch;
Painfully I wait and hope for rest;
She comes apace, and yet her pace is slow;
I wait, I wait in vain, the night has passed.
Tomorrow I will wait again her touch,
And if she comes my last good bye is said;
I wait in hope, I do not hope for much,
Only to be laid among the dead,
And wait the final last day resurrection
When we will rise in glorious perfection.