Before I watch it pass away
I\'ll gather up, this dying day,
to tend, with tenderness, its grave,
for which, a poppy, I will save.
This crumb of comfort I’ll compress.
Locked up inside a flower press,
immortalised, this dying day,
will live when it has 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.