Maybe it is I after all, 

who chose this life
to watch time dissolve
flesh and stone,
undoing this body,
turning it slowly into ashes
carried by the wind
on invisible wings

Hold fast
to every heart beat,
to every strike
of the hands of time,
for each and every one,
all are the last
Fly home
or hold fast
until you turn to dust
And your borrowed breath
has been reclaimed
from body hollow and gray,
soul falling into the embrace
of the hooded lady