The Book

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.

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “The Book

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