Is that you, beyond the gate?
I would turn, is someone there?
And a whisper, did you whisper?

Such thoughts, indistinct, troubled.
It cannot be you. The grave is cold.
And the casket, yes the casket,
Must be so old, so very old.

Yet you were there, beyond the gate.
I simply let go of your hand.
The memory just faded. A whisper?
Or your weakened laugh.

And now the gate is open. The gate,
the gate again. We are nothing. We
are nothing. And we shall never change.

 

....