THE SNOW WILL FALL

THE SNOW WILL FALL

The snow will fall on my barren grave,
as time marches on and history is made.

And legions of angels will transcribe my name
in the golden book, sealed by a flame.

All that is left will be threads of memory,
of times that you spent celebrating with me.

The time when our destinies melded as one,
when our feet strolled the sand,
warmed by the sun.

When I saw in your pupils the answers to prayers
and woke in the morning to find you still there.

The moon will fall down on our years of romance,
when our eyes dim with age
and we tire of the dance.

One will go first and one will remain
to pick up the pieces and live through the pain.

All that is left will be ashes and dust,
sparks of remembrance and tinges of us,

That will meddle with sleep
and tear through the night
like meteor showers of tremulous light.

And all will be kept in the annals of time,
to ponder thereafter in moments divine.

The snow will fall on my barren grave,
alone in the churchyard where I was laid.

And the sun will set on a life well spent
with those that I loved and cherished and kissed.

All that is left our golden days
of halcyon brilliance and amorous ways.

And legions of angels will enter my name
in the golden directory, guarded by flame.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED