Death
While gliding down that last great fall
Comes the shrill voice of the Falcon’s call
And the soul reaches out for a comforting shawl
Called the Weave of the Dreamer’s Heart.
Not so long had the spirit fled
When the chilling cold crossed the bed
And the lingering feeling quickly fled
To those places where souls depart.
Ah, but alas, ‘tis a place of wonder
And every heart has thought it blunder
When the shawl of the living, remnants tore,
Replaced by the warmth of the Dreamer’s Heart.
D. Thurmond / JE Falcon
07-24-2019
