I have come to where the deep words are Spoken with care. There is no more to hide. I toss away the cold stance of my fear And move O far, far out to be beside One who owns all language in extremes Of death. We watch the coming-in now tide. We have lived through the nightmares death presumes To wound us with. We faced the darkest place. Death the familiar enters all our rooms. We wear its colour. Its mask's on our face. But not for long. It's good to let tears run, There is the quick, the nerve, also the grace Of death. It brings our life into the sun And we are grateful. Grief is gracious when It takes the character of this kind one, This gentle person. We re-live his life And marvel at the quiet good he's done. (E Jennings)