She visited him on the parapet where he peered out at his destiny below
And touched her silky hand to his shoulder. He recognized her warmth
And said in tired annoyance, "Oh, it is you."
"Tomorrow is farewell," she reminded him.
"Yes," he replied, "I know."
She removed her hand, taciturn, and turned tearfully away.
He frowned, unaffected by her seraphic figure far too familiar.
She crossed her arms. "You've been waiting for this."
"I could have left you before."
"That is for me to say."
Roughly he reached for her wrist and whirled her around.
In his eyes she saw the faint flicker of herself feebly reflected
And said, "I am leaving you."
So he sneered bitterly, "At last!"
Then she vanished without a sound.
But she visited him once more on the blood-wet grass where he laid waiting
And sadly smiled a final goodbye before it was the other's time to arrive.
"Wait," he called, "Do not abandon me yet."
"Oh," she said, "It's too late. You never…"
He strained to hear, but her voice was fading.
The icy chill of another presence came like frost freezing him down to his core
And he writhed and thrashed and refused to look upon her dreadful face.
She cackled, "Did you think I would be beautiful?"
He opened his eyes and saw her purple lips move,
"I am the one you've been waiting for."
She bore her thorny nails into his shoulders, leaning down her gray and ghostly face.
He quivered, shivered, and shook and could not stop her invasion into his skin.
Her harsh whisper stung. "You are afraid."
"Only cold," he answered calmly, "I am ready now."
His words left on his tongue an acrid aftertaste.
She reached inside and seized his soul, throwing it up into the heaving, breathing breeze,
And with heavy fatigue fell forward, collapsing with a crash into his vacant corpse.
She slipped and sunk into the emptiness of his frigid frame
And filled the broken body left behind on earth to rot
While he flew into the sky on wind's wings to peace.