Loss of the Wife

She watched him cry at the side of her bed.
He had watched her fade away.
She had felt her body succumb to sickness, nothing to plead.
He had noticed her health in a unequal balance, sway.

She had made her wishes known to him.
He had told her of his promises.
She knew her time was on Death's whim.
He had refurbished everyday her room, with roses.

She had asked him of the flowers.
He replied that her life were tied to the rose's.
She knew of his daily replacements while she had her showers.
He loathed life's ways, for he would soon add her to his loses.

She stares into his swelled eyes, and grabbed his trembling hand.
He reluctantly looks back into the glacially icy eyes of death.
She can feel the chill of death in her hand envelope his in reprimand.
He tries to pass a little warmth and comfort from his lips to hers, a final gift.

She knows she will soon pass and leave him.
He notices a rare shift from her body.
She whispers into his ear, "I love you, and now I must give into his whim."
His only regret, because she was no longer in pain, he didn't have time to reply and say "I love you, and I'll see you soon.