I can remember
That cold
November,
We softly on the
piano played.
The tune you sang,
Its
echoes rang
Melodious until its
fade.
Then you coughed—
Ever so soft—
But still I saw what it produced.
It long you covered—
What I had discovered—
What long ago I had deduced.
That mark of blood,
O! What a flood
Of pain and sorrow it did send.
Your eyes expressed
What in my chest
I had forever feared: your end.
--Basil Chalmondeley