A world in servitude to time

Since you liked last week's so much, here's another RS Thomas poem, written on the death of his wife. His complete works are about 500 pages worth, so there's plenty more where these came from. I like the brevity of this one, its breathless sadness and simplicity. Like the immortalities of love and life, it's gone before you can catch it.

We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed
love's moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
“Come,” said death,
choosing her as his
partner for the last dance. And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.