Saturday, December 3, 2016


                   There’s hear-say and there’s read-say about death
                   And our survival in an afterlife
                   As if our spirit lived beyond our breath,
                   A thought, for most of us, to make us blithe.

                  And then, imagining we live again

                  Reincarnated for another round
                  Were fortune warranting a loud “Amen,”
                  As if one were majestically crowned—

                  Unless, of course, your life had been like hell
                  And you were happy to be shed of it,
                  Glad to be freed from such a wicked spell

                  Your raveled sleave of care at last unknit.

                       Now, as for me, as long as you appear,
                       I’ll gladly see you there and then, my Dear.