I used to think,
in some indulgent piteous way,
that to die could be quite sweet,
a shuffling off of all things wrong,
an end of pain and transient joy,
but now I think I’d rather stay
to face the burden of the day.
Whatever comes is worth the price
of one more moment in this life
where heaven rests inside a flower.
Such things can fill the saddest hour
if we will only turn and look.
I now delay to close the book.