My Son My Executioner
My son, my executioner,
…… I take you in my arms,
Quiet and small and just astir,
…… And whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son, our instrument
…… Of immortality,
Your cries and hunger document
…… Our bodily decay.
We twenty-five and twenty-two,
…… Who seemed to live forever,
Observe enduring life in you
…… And start to die together.
by Donald Hall
from Strong Measures
Harper Collins, 1986