In his face smiled a serene quiet;
Like dew sparkled of a spring moist;
Now he sleeps under, to eternal rest;
In the frosty silence of our spring harvests;
In his old lanes thunders a new bloom;
Where no life can die, nor live and stand;

His casket has moved from a life to life;
Now hyacinths embrace the mound in prayer;
And the narcissus opens in extended hands;
The dew now weeps in a lost dawn;
In search for eyes that once lit a calm

~S~
7th March, 2013

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