It was the wee hours of a winter day

I interviewed the dying man.

Picture of stateliness and calm understanding

His weather-beaten face shone through candles' gleam.

I was happy none was near,

So could question the dying man.

' Was it worth after all?' I asked of the dying man.

'There's no choice,' said he. 

'Any regrets?'.

' None,' murmured he, and calmly passed on.