Death becomes her, highlights power

In this final golden hour;

It takes strength to grant demise

To Less, that More would be the prize.

Solemn spill, these dreams that fall,

Graveyard draped in leafy pall;

Wail she will, while pain is fresh –

But soon, her bones will gain new flesh.




A Higher Road


He thought his shoulders were strong and broad

til troubles came to call;

Like flurries, problems mounted up,

and made his strength feel small.

Rocked to his heels, and then his knees,

he bent beneath the load –

and found that in the broken place,

he found a higher road.