At once, we'll see if brave, newborn belief
will wrap around the truth, or fall to shreds:
now all your untold sins, you freshly dead
may have to be erased by tears of grief.
Perhaps I too may die at crack of dusk
with secret smile upon my true love's bed,
or in my daughter's lap, my silver head
as sisters sing, will sag, return to dust.
I'll miss the Wedding days of every heir,
but punctuate exchange of sacred vows:
for they will praise my memory,while theirs
(the lapse betrayed by sweat, and creasing brows)
can’t find my face. And they will mumble prayers
which may or may not make things better now.