Death

• Mari jovi Quicho, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2006

Coming from a journey,
racing towards the door,
not knowing what lies ahead,
though wanting to learn more.

I call out your name,
I hear no reply,
now i start to wonder why.
Fearing the worst,
I rush to your side,
seeing now that you have died.

I loved you then and i always will,
but stairing at your grave makes me ill.
Why did I leave you?
Why did I go?
But before I part,
there's something you should know.
The things I said,
and the things I've done,
I hope you'll forgive,
by the time my death has won.