On Seeing An Open Casket Poem by Christopher Laverty

Disturb her not - she is not far;
she hears our voices - have no doubt.
Death does not her beauty mar -
not blow her candle wholly out.

Her features almost break in movement -
her cheeks still hold their hues of pink;
her lids might open any moment -
her spirit hovers round the brink.

She's gone not to some far-off land -
this room itself rests her from strife;
disturb her not then - as we stand
not by a sight of death, but life.