The Death of a Nun

Singing or praying suddenly strangled where

it gathered in her throat; purple from blue,

her eyes went mad with fright and knew

that death unsanctified had caught her there.

And I who loved her, dumbly wondering where

such music and such pain departed to,

watched helpless as the living light withdrew

from lips and hands and brow once shining fair.

Oh, in that solemnest moment I learned this:

that Death bears not the hallowed shape of peace

Edith Klem

nor color of sleep, nor is the slow release

of will to live after an unearthly kiss -

oh, none of these! It is the strangled breath,

and then forever and ever Death is Death.