Dying alone on foreign land,
death now grips his blessed hand
Never choosing time or place,
but method certain,
—the Angels wait
An oak to fall on alien soil,
all seeds to heaven thrown
His words cast free to light the dark,
that ‘Good Night,’
—now his own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
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Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: January 30th, 2017 00:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
Offline)
Comments1
Great write - The choice of how is ours alone, the when can never be undone...
Thank you!
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