sonnet of happy endings

In the wee hours of morning, ‘tis not best

To hold pale hands – so cold – against one’s chest.

And as those hands tremble, I grow more weak

To watch as your living pink leaves your cheek

But on I smile, for time shall not steal all,

Though your spirit shall wither from time’s thrall.

So as the sun begins to poke its head,

Spreading monotonous shadows round your bed,

We both shall bravely hold our heads up high

(For both our sakes; to keep us both alive)

To tell the night to give our doubts amends.

And with last breath you say, “To happy ends!”

So I remember, as your hand does fall,

‘Tis bests to’ve had than to not’ve had at all.