His Crossing
He is dead. It is over.
Did you see his face before his death came;
The cancer deepened furrows
Of his brow; medicated dilation
Of his unfocused eyes;
His almost unintelligible pleading
For relief from pain?
Yet, at the threshold of his crossing
A placid recognition moved
Across his face, as if a splender
Approched his bed.
He seemed to see, he knew.
Was that the death his faith had taught?
Would he have embraced,
With ecstaic expression, a skeletal form
Robed in cloak and cowl,
Surrounded with shadowy dread,
Chilling the hearts
Of the sick and dying?
Who would have smoothed his brow?
Who would have released
His pain or caused a smile,
Except a loving friend?
There was a sweetness at his passing.
What he saw remains an eternal mystery;
A vision for which he had no fear.
I think the Angel of Death
Has been much maligned.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
Added by Poetry Lover
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