Gate of Heaven

Through rolling green hills, in the bright winter dawn

together we’ll go  to this wide winter lawn

over trails anointed by generations of tears

we’ll bring your still heart and at last face our fears.

For this is the field of our lingering pain

terminus for the somber parade

bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.

But then, when the living have gone to warm homes,

you’ll stay in this place under the bright, cold dome

and wait ‘neath the grass of this wind-swept plain

for what will come next;  you'll rise once again.

For this is the field of our lingering pain

terminus for the somber parade

bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.