A grazing touch of memory.
Of times too short, too long ago.
Opinions aired, courageously
of what they might but did not know.

A lifetime lived, a last breath left
to fog the glass of past recall.
A springtime song as mem’ries slept
and sadness fell in teardrop’s fall.

Upon the thorny stem a bud
born fresh to bloom and catch an eye.
As thorns do prick and draw one’s blood
and angels soar the cloudless sky.

Death is but our release of life
when who we were is laid to rest.
No longer pained or wrought with strife,
as all was gave, a human’s best.

Too soon the scythe does fell the crop
Too soon the seed does tumble down.
Too soon the unwound watch then stops
the faltering soft tick’s rebound.

And though I trek uncharted earth
and stumble as a pebble rolls.
A new young life shall soon be born
the meadow low as two bells toll.

At birth to wake and smell the rose
upon the winding vine of life.
Where age and wisdom slowly grows
until the silent scything knife.