Sunlight reaves through the cerulean sky
and drifting clouds; over mountains, it lies
through the forest's heartbeat, trembling leaves,
upon dappled nature's breast weave.
The placid echo sounds of the fast,
entrancing waterfall cascading vast
downward into a plunge pool across
cool rocks and soft, wet green moss.
We walked to the ridge of the hill.
A sinking feeling of sadness reeled.
The wooden bridge was down;
a lot of the wooden planks drowned.
Absolutely nothing we could do,
except find another way through,
under the shade of branches that weep.
Rest, for the climb was rather steep.
My dear, the one whom rest eludes;
whence comes to you spirits at night,
these specters that harass your mood
and plague you when out are the lights?
Is there no pill or wonder drug
that eases you like a friend's hug?
From eve to eve you are beset;
and assailed by your dreams and fear
of the Reaper's looming onset,
which prompt your nightmares every year.
Like your nightmares, nights annoy you,
then irk, vex, and thus destroy you.
The Angel of Death's ghostly presence
disturbs your rest though you protest;
it reaves from you the assurance
that you are safe and not unblest.
But, my dear, I am here to tell
you,—that for you there's no death knell;
that you're beyond the reach of Death:
for God safeguards you forever,
and gives you life with every breath,
so that Death harms you never, ever!
And know that I'll be here to defend
you for all time until Time's sure end.
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