So many names have I been called,
for I assume the face of the one you love,
and you mistake me,
believing I am that one,
though it is very clear who I really am,
Silently I hear your private keening,
For no one ever calls my name,
No one cries for me,
None beg me to stay,
No one loves me,
So I settle here quietly,
listening to your sweet pleas,
feeling your soft caresses,
and I imagine that you are speaking to me,
And when you kiss me that last lingering time,
I wonder what it must be like,
to love someone so very much,
that in your blind grief,
you will kiss the face of Death,
still calling me by some other name.