Apparitions

A sore sight to behold, The voices of the dead we knew, Some exhumed soul glare below, A loved one, now gone. My turn too soon, come not, For fruits remain, to enjoy, Take me not away, no, not my sight, Faith! Things to be wept for are! The phantom gloom now fires, The lonely breath of the deceiving body, I lie aghast, my Strength gone, My Light extinguished, my Illusions strong. And thus I depart, a final hush, Emits a gloomy pall, surrounds, Loved ones, no tears shed, For 'tis your turn too soon.