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

​

​

​