Nor smell the honey

I feel your presence though you never speak
In your last three hours, I held your hand
Your mind  endured with will  its  final task
To reach the entrance to that “Promised Land”

But now I sense you  in these dingy rooms
I cannot touch you though, it makes me sad
I cannot hear you speak or  hear  you  sing
Nor smell the honey with which you were clad

I  wept when looking for your old cartoons
And came down here to get a break
They seemed   most you of all the books you had
I have no letters nor any sort of sake

Where do I go now, I ask  your ghost
There is no answer, yet I feel love close.