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.
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