The Mists of Morn

She lay there, all her beauty, all her light

Surrendered now to him we name as Death.

I did not weep but prayed that my beloved

Would soar from body's pain to live again

In the peace-filled spheres where spirits find their rest,

That ambience divine where we absorb

The lessons of the past and soul prepare

The next descent into the human form.

Her feet grown cold, her face in calm repose

The final breath so quiet and so sweet.

And then I wept, the tears unbidden flowed.

It seemed the grief of all the world was mine,

Lodged within this one small human heart

As the charioteer dissolved the mists of morn.