Grateful

Grateful

Besieged, I ask for your respite
from the cold of winter's breath,
in the event that I succumb
to the gnarled hand of Death.

I gaze upon the pure white snow
counting all my days as few,
but blessed be the sunrise
that brings each day anew.

What I gave was all I had
and guaged by those I've known,
somehow I don't feel so bad
for I know I'm not alone.

So when I leave this plain of life
and fear then melts away,
I know I will be grateful
for each and every day.

© Copyright 2008 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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