Between the silence of a sterile room and a child of grace
the sure footed arrival of a God without a face
The hourglass of time stills the stage with un-remission
as she waits by Snow Don Hills without contrition
A floodlight of compassion eases in she's not in pain
her soul is a lit lantern that's never smelt the rain
Wearing a tallit with knotted fringes on each corner
He's opens every angle like an Angel without borders
Dressed in a dignity gown and propped against a pillow
she dances with the bunnies beneath a weeping willow
God takes her little hand in His, its simple so precise
just like sunrise in the morning, straight from paradise.