Tuesday, September 21, 2004
There was
a cold chill.
Our breath
created frost,
against clear air.
And as the line,
slowly wove;
as a snake in
the prarries.
We waited.
Waited for
our turn
to gaze;
for one last time.
At the face
of the one
we love.
And feel the
kiss of death
on his forehead.
a cold chill.
Our breath
created frost,
against clear air.
And as the line,
slowly wove;
as a snake in
the prarries.
We waited.
Waited for
our turn
to gaze;
for one last time.
At the face
of the one
we love.
And feel the
kiss of death
on his forehead.