Sunday Muse

The deer come
to your grave each night
and if we have left flowers
they taste them.

This dying as buds
swell on the tall camellia,
songbirds returning
to wet shrubs in the field.

I brought you a Psalm
a song, a poem. We sing
our voices following you
for all of our lives.

~ This Dying for SHB by Dennis Bleything

The old fence is long gone, but the arch over the front steps still stands as a proud sentinel, pointing to the heavens, watching over our loved ones, still welcoming those who come to pay their respects, comforting those who perhaps linger a little longer, weeping.

Weekly Top Shot