Even After Death Poem by James McLain

Swords and guns fall from the hands of the living
and wreaths for the dead come alive.
Come, as I softly ask
do you not even now have the big picture that none
ever had before but in sleep to keep the light
made new so bright that streaks white my soul.

And even these gifts are never enough
as I speak to the dead, they know.
I do not rebuff them in thought as they grow
even more in tune,
with the melody that they bring to me is but of you.