Before I watch it pass away
I\'ll gather up this dying day
And tend, with tenderness, its grave,
From which, a poppy, I will save.
This crumb of comfort I’ll compress,
Immortalise in flower press,
To conjure up this dying day
When it has long since passed away.
And when its sombre sun has set,
This remnant of a raw regret,
I\'ll bury, in my book of death,
To breathe its final, bitter breath.