The hour of loss and final partings
Gone in whiff, the hymnal drowns
While my ears still hear in beatings
Her southern lilt of greeting sounds
We lose in loss, good Wordsworth chimes
Of splendor, grass, and death through-seeing
Yet echoes throb our muffled cries
As waters soothe the haunt of being
~ A poem of cognac and mourning.
I can hear her still, and she makes me smile.
Jericho Brisance 
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