By Josie Whitehead


When the lark’s shrill voice no longer calls
      And dark clouds screen the sky;
When lingering shadows brush the grass 
      And eventide draws nigh;

When leaves spill down from shivering trees,
      To make a path of gold;
When dripping mist enshrouds their boughs
       And the gentle breeze blows cold;
When the darkness closes softly in
      And you know life’s end’s in sight -
Twilight’s shadowy mantle grasps
        The solitude of night.

A soft light shines around your bed;
     A warm hand reaches yours.
A face you know looks down at you
     And your spirit softly soars.

Nightfall’s here, your day is done,
     There’s a new world now in sight,
And you gladly grip that steadfast hand
     And walk into the light.

Copyright on all my poems

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