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In Memory

She lay upon her bed of pain; the chrysalis grew dull and gray; the colors which we knew as her were fading fast, so fast, away; but, underneath the fragile clay, we saw new colors burning through of soul triumphant in its flight approaching Glory's avenue. It seemed we heard her spirit groan, her frail flesh tremble beneath the weight of wings fast-pulsing with new life and yearning for the Infinite. She's free! Her dewy wings soft-dried by hovering angel's gentle breath have lifted once, now twice they stir and find the air: can this be death? © 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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