Collision course with death
Do not grieve, mother.It was meant to be.
The death of youth came
quick and violently.
Do not sit bereft
on my window-sill
pleading at the stars
for the living will.
Find strength in that deep
clear fountain within
that gave me laughter
and barn tales to spin.
Do not grieve, mother.
We're death's absentees.
On these mortal shores
like dragonflies in autumn.
Poetry by An-ders
Read 560 times
Written on 2010-11-04 at 13:59
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