Dylan Is Gone
Dying alone on foreign land,
death now grips his blessed hand
Never choosing time or place,
but method certain,
—the Angels wait
An oak to fall on alien soil,
all seeds to heaven thrown
His words cast free to light the dark,
that ‘Good Night,’
—now his own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2017
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