by Melissa Harding

Candlelight reflected in the satin's sheen-
Your eyes closed in perpetual dream.
Muffled whispers--we softly weep
As we pass by and watch you sleep.
The minister commends you to the grave,
And we pray the Lord our souls to save.
The bed of soil in which you lay
Will give you up again someday.
Rest now, my love--your work is done.
Wait for the rising of the Son.