In the end, they slip more than falling,
Drift away, slowly, from view,
Hope is raised, but never shows her face,
From beneath her hood.
They rally, breathing life once more into tired lungs,
To run to chase to try, but fail,
And one more punch enough to wind them,
To collapse, to fall again.
And then. Amongst the relief and joy despair,
For what should not have come to pass but did,
For what should not been allowed but was,
And for what is, no longer what might be.
They are gone.
They have been gone before,
And time it took, and life it took, and cruel years and luck and hurt and tears,
And all those things are lost now,
And will have to come again.