A bird whispers the forlorn thought of grace;
And as we circle to this we now return anew –
To that much higher place,
To that quietness of life,
Far beyond the forethought of our dying race,
All within the time we chose.
It is by the touch of your breath I linger,
But my mortality beckons time morose;
And I must beg that you forgive me,
For death must end this dream, and unsettle
The moaning rhythm of your waving sea;
Ah! my dear, I do long with love for thee!
To smell the sweetness of your bliss, and
To taste the stars of morning one more time;
Each a drop of ecstasy,
Perfect speckled lights revealed to me,
Each a ray of hope in darkness,
A grace for you and I to bear and see.
Ah! beside me my God with opened eyes,
Know it was the first that mattered most;
For with that gift which we were given,
We must rise and now redress;
Listen to the bird outside sing silently,
Whisper within a new love for your mortality.