ON DEATH AND A DOVE
And fell upon its side.
Raised up its wing to greet the dawn;
And with that last brave gesture done,
Lay down again and died.
I felt a lump rise in my throat.
A mist filled up my eye.
A heaviness lay on my breast.
The scene had put me to the test.
A poignant question…“Why?”
If what is best is life itself,
Why are we made to die?
Starting out like an unread book;
Asking all to come and look.
Making the noble try.
Must all our trouble be for naught?
A small cry in eternity?
Must by the trap we all be caught?
Is death the one great certainty?
Or, does life sing beyond the grave,
A song of souls too brave to die?
A melody to match the stars,
Transcending death’s gray prison bars,
The certainty a lie?