Treasure Island

Phyllis Strong


Death Is The Final Destiny


Like the vivid color of a rose,
It's stem so sturdy and strong.
Although you put them in water;
their life is not very long.

And so her life was on this earth,
too short to you and me.
But the days that she was here;
her beauty all could see.

And like the fragrance of a rose,
her scent will linger on.
Although she's absent from this earth;
her memories are not gone.

So keep good thoughts of her;
In your heart,
and God will dry your tears.

She's happy in the arms of God;
No more pain,
No more sorrows,
No more fears.

Submitted: Friday, March 02, 2012
Edited: Saturday, March 03, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Death Is The Final Destiny by Phyllis Strong )

Enter the verification code :

  • Smoky Hoss (3/17/2012 2:34:00 PM)

    That is absolutely, and so simply beautiful. You've made my day with this one... thank you. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Murderer, Nassy Fesharaki
  2. The Eclipse (1975), Daniel Brick
  3. winter kiss, Dipankar Chakraborty
  4. A Lover's Rose, JJ Evendon
  5. Death was upon her, Naomi Chao
  6. Perhaps, Dipankar Chakraborty
  7. The matchless unparalelled Artist of the.., S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
  8. Sexy stem, Madrason writer
  9. Goodbye, Richard Lam
  10. Vibes, Stratis Havarti

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]