Winds of change and winds of the spirit
4/28/15 at 05:01 AM 0 Comments

Her grave

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Her grave is on the hillside where she lays
Among the trees and flowers and natures ways:
Of Summer, Autumn, winter, spring,
And all that natures made to bring.

I sometimes stand there by her grave
And think of lives we tried to save;
Our baby boy, a few months old
Who lies with her in that ground so
Cold.

He brought us joy and sorrow, both,
But must have known this world is loathe
To keep a treasure so divine,
So pure and loving, and so fine.

I know, of course, that they both sleep,
Like winter’s snow lies thick and deep;
Unseen, then life beneath begins to wake,
Rising from sleep, its life, death cannot take.

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