By Lawrence Aung

From a card I was told
that you died of C.H.F
eighty-eight years old
Our time together seemed the same
But I never quite caught your name
And on each day
you must have felt
Like a fallen tree
on the veldt,
whose leaves
the wind
had stripped away

I held your heart
It was a seed
covered in rich black clay
rooted in a bloody soil
the last remnants of your life
were a considerable toil 

Cachexia had left you emaciated
But I had left you hollow
And on your face I had expected
grief suffering or sorrow
but instead you were still
Death
is
stillness
And in
that stillness
a solemn dignity
You taught me that
Death,
death awaits us all
and that's a given
but in your clouded eyes
I gazed and I saw
a quiet heaven

Lawrence Aung, M.D., Class of 2018, is a first-year medical student at UTSW. He went to the University of Miami for his undergraduate degree. He has an interest in contemporary art and photography. His favorite poet is W.B Yeats.