Leaves
A golden carpet smoothes our way
to death be not proud he wrote
for many are called to know
the radiance heralding at our feet.
Contented warriors tread with silent
battle cries as slippery veins cushion,
surround, wet, soak, and
entice dirty sneakers
once so white
to form their defense against no more.
Copyright © Orma Sullivan | Year Posted 2008
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