Before the Grave Calls

Had I giv’n up the ghost and into death sank,
And the rosy color drained from my face—
Had my mother laid me down in stiff lace,
My eyes turning to glass, hazy and blank—
Had I lost the fight against my own blood,
Or if heaven above my young life claimed,
Soul stolen quietly from my small frame,
Body asleep ‘neath a blanket of mud—

How would you fare, seeing my ill-timed fate?
Would you weep for me, or for your own sake?
Or visit a time in which I still breathed?
While yet alive, let us our time not waste,
Lest in vain love make a dire mistake:
Before the grave calls, love with heart unsheathed.