Gate of Heaven
Through rolling green hills, in the bright winter dawn
together we’ll go to this wide winter lawn
over trails anointed by generations of tears
we’ll bring your still heart and at last face our fears.
For this is the field of our lingering pain
terminus for the somber parade
bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.
But then, when the living have gone to warm homes,
you’ll stay in this place under the bright, cold dome
and wait ‘neath the grass of this wind-swept plain
for what will come next; your soul to rise once again.
For this is the field of our lingering pain
terminus for the somber parade
bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.
poem by Steven Federle
Added by Poetry Lover
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