Recessional. . Wait. Don't let the sun go slack. Don't go alone into the cold. Wait. Don't give up on us yet. I know that there's more you haven't told.
If this were the last snowfall. No more halos on evergreen. If this were the last glimpse of winter. What would these eyes see?. . If this were the last slow curling.
The one who survives by making the lives. Of others worthwhile. She's coming apart. Right before my eyes. The one who depends on the services she renders.
It's the season of grace coming out of the void. Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance. It's the season of possible miracle cures. Where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown.