The Invitation
If the king reaper calls, O, and I cease to be
Let not statesmen, or pious priest honor me
But if you will celebrate one drop of memory
Let me among the common folks find glory
And all poets must come, invite you foremost
My brothers and sisters who has been host
To the passion the embue me, I invite you
Because you understand the Word that made me
And will not be surprise when yet before you
My mortal clay decomposes to words, rise free
To find home, hope, origin of roots and eternity
For every cell and every humor change shall be
Into the everlasting song that rings praise in glory
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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