Peaceful Passing

Blossoms Of the plum tree Thick snow On the branches A few wisps of steam rise As a warm wind The first of the season Carries the sound of ice cracking Through her still closed window The light of the first quarter moon And the glow of the angel beside her Lights a path in the land of dreams A land where time ebbs and flows like the tides Where all those she had loved wait patiently for her As her last few breaths quietly subside