Like feathers falling on fresh snow.
It’s the price we all pay.
Don’t shield your eyes.
From the oncoming day.
You are now empty-you can see it in your eyes.
They are now singing
For a new soul shall rise.
All must pass, my darling.
This much is true.
And they are all so happy to meet
Someone as lovely as you.
They say this is death.
The sad, sad ending.
But they are wrong.
This is the healing-this is the mending.
By the Brooke 