When sleep is all that there is left –
When no longer eyes behold
the richness of creation’s hand
on fields of green and marigold…
When silence claims sweet laughter’s place –
When music’s beat no longer strokes
the heartstrings of emotion’s bass
or touch points of desire’s hopes…
When movement’s gone and stillness reigns –
When fixed are limbs that once rejoiced
in loving hugs and hobbies, too:
a poet’s pen with lovely voice…
What remains are mere footprints of
a soul searching for its home,
Where waking joy and fields of green
crown hugs in everlasting arms!
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