sad death poem

i reside at table mountain
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
out of the deep and the dark
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
weak-winged is song
i saw him once before
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
see, from this counterfeit of him
the sun is up
in an old chamber softly lit
when night drifts along the streets of the city