Death

New ShootThe silence, the Silence.
Where the Word does not speak.

The trees curl and reach,
while the sun’s rays creep, creep,
Higher and away, it dips below the face.
The Last Sun of her days.

But the Word knows her ways
The Son shall see her face
She’ll see his face, the radiant gaze.

The Word will speak her name,
Which we knew not, but felt her so.
And so shall she be.
He will speak of Home,
And so shall she be.

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