You paint heaven
With every word.
Such music is heard.
Against the sky
The shadow of a bird.
We watched it fly
And thought each breath
Brought us closer to death.

For the heaven you portray,
We would be happy to depart,
From your poetry to start.
Fragments of it remain
As we recapture its refrain.
The heavy clouds, wind stirred
Hang low.
Sweet poet may your words
ever flow.

As life giving rain
Falls on the dry earth.
When words die let there
Be re birth.
And keep fresh the memory
Of your songs.
For it is now and to
the future,
That your work belongs.


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