Upon her mossy bed she sleeps, spelled by her antiquated dreams
Many a night’s deep slumber her lungs, now weary, have risen and fallen on a blackness of sacred air
A mellifluous drum ever beats to her life’s melodies—now, soothing like spindled shafts of sun’s golden hue
Within her dream’s final beating song she gazes out from an old pane window, paint chipped, fixated on the white blossoming crown of of an old almond tree
Her own white silky head flourishingly glows, in like fashion, within a moonlit room
A magnificent blue moon lays restfully painted upon an eternal horizon
Angels of burning bronze and blazing eyes distantly march
Skies whistle a peaceful salute as stars wishfully beckon her home
Her skin, kissed by ageless sunrises, tells her story—each gentle line exemplifying years forged in a journey’s battlefield
Soon, she heaves earthy winds no more as she departs from her last dusk—like wrinkled, fire ignited leaves departing from branches of cedar
Alas, she bids farewell to her final zenith
Arriving Angels swiftly catch her drifting spirit, flying her to God’s ceaseless throngs
Now, she resides within heaven’s eternal cosmos of Milky Way
Betimes, she soars upon those wishful shooting stars, silently watching other dreamers magically dreaming on many days of eventide