Writer's Cramp entry 18OCT20
We've lost an able-bodied hand to hold,
The time has come for a final goodbye,
We grieve life's closing act of growing old,
Our hearts bleed as friends and family cry,
From flesh and bones, a live spirit unrolled,
With no use for matter, the soul did fly,
And entered the gates made of pearls and gold,
Where never a tear shall moisten an eye.
Now welcomed into that heavenly fold,
Transcended the breeze, transcended the sky,
No longer to fear the stillness and cold,
This space is for others as time goes by,
In the resolve of all material things,
There's a choir where every spirit sings.