Waltz Time

(A poem for Ruth Tudor)

In the slow waltz that is the end of life, the steps falter and fail,
But the music that guides us all continues apace, no break
In the rhythm, no pause, no endings.
What we knew, the person who lived in the skin we saw,
Whether wrinkled or smooth, old or young, whoever
Or however, lives on in those who know then, and dances
Still to the slow waltz tune.
The words they spoke, the smiles that lit their face,
The wisdom that remains, the folly, the anger,
The pain, the laughter, all remain, all remain.
And our hearts hold the memories that still dance
To the slow waltz at the end of life.
Love does not die, it only changes, grows softer,
Grows moire blurred, less no longer cuts like
A knife. It does not stir the soul, but instead
Calms and smooths the scars within.
Love dances still to the slow waltz that
Is at the end of life.
One, two, three, one, two, three,
Turn, turn, and back, we all dance the
Steps that measure the waltz that is at the
End of life.
It is no ending though, just one more beginning,
One more new dawn, one more new day.
Take it in your arms, and fit your steps,
To the slow waltz that is at the end of life.
And at the beginning.

(c) 2ndwitch 18/01/11