CARRYING THE COFFIN
Along the trail familiar, I move once more,
Yet today, it hums with a different lore.
Oh, my son, this journey is mine alone,
Though countless souls follow, silent, unknown.
Never did I lay my burdens upon your hand,
For they are mine, shaped by time’s shifting sand.
If they weigh heavy, let them rest on the earth,
The strength of your hands holds far greater worth.
If they weigh heavy, let them lie and be still,
For your tender spirit has mountains to fill.
At the foot of the mountain, where the shadows dwell,
There lies a quiet resting place—its tale I know well.
Though the dusk of life approaches with its gentle sweep,
Others will gather where the night finds its keep.
To the call of the earth, I bend in quiet prayer,
Its rhythm eternal, its voice beyond compare.
As I leave, take this token with care,
A salve of love, your mother’s tender share.
As I leave, take this balm of grace,
A whisper of comfort, her warm embrace.
Let the melody linger, where silence may grow,
For the song of the heart will always flow
