Ella

So this is death again;
    he comes around too often
    of late by far!
Disturbing our positioning,
    meddling with the dials,
    blotting out our brightest star.
How will we find our way?
    hands fumble along a wall,
    looking for an exit or a light,
While behind him, shedding life
    like a pair of wrinkled stockings, 
    she stands tall,
Her face, her smile, her eyes,
    Ella in her radiance.

bereavementbest friendcousindeathrhyme

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