A Sonnet

As I grow old and grey, days get shorter
Myself, I find preoccupied with death,
That moment I surrender my last breath,
Wondering what lies beyond life’s border...
Will my parting be painful and drawn out?
Or will I go peacefully in my sleep?
Will I be missed? will my friends even weep?
Will I wake up to hear the angels shout?
My daily pray’r; that my soul be prepared
For the long journey across death’s threshold
That peace I’ve made, with all, that dear I hold
Giv’n thanks to my love, for the life we shared;
Then ready will I be, and worry-free
To meet my Maker, and whate’er shall be!
© Vic Evora

A poem from the past. Yet still relevant


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