Valentine Day
At a time unnoticed, the chill house had become
Silent almost, inexorably, slyly.
Beyond the kitchen window, a grayness
Fluttered slowly near, circling assured.–
Then in the hallway door, the neighbor quietly
Beckoned, and we followed him, followed
Along the icy hall, and up the laddery stairs.–
I saw you kneeling by the bed, your face gray,
Stony with meaning I could not understand.
In both your hands you held the dark hand–
Limp, that hand, not pressing yours, even
To say good-bye. And your eyes were fixed
On the uncomprehending eyes, gone so dark.–
I knew that others stood about, two or three.
But who they were, I can not now remember.–
Later someone led us back, to that same room.
Order had come–a sort of order–and the sheet was drawn
Tautly over. That someone lifted the white cloth back,
To show us the face, a face gone vacant now,–
And the eyes remotely closed.
And from the other room, over low voices,
I heard your frail and brief, small, wailing cry.
(When William Trout was 10 years old, his father, Charles Edgar Trout, age 44, died on February 14, 1919, a victim of the influenza pandemic of 1918-1919.)