So this is death! Speak softly lest she waken
From her deep, painless sleep to hear our sighing.
Her fragile heart that was so often shaken
Has found the crown of all content in dying.
For on her face no lines are etched of sorrow;
She has recaptured youth, forgotten sadness.
I wonder, does she find the New Tomorrow
All that she dreamed, a sphere of hope and gladness?
Her worn old willing hands, at last, are resting;
Her slowing feet are stilled, yet I am certain
Celestial heights will always find her questing,
Could we but see beyond the final curtain.
Poet's Reed
