Living Light Poem by Patti Masterman
Living Light
The words still live, though flesh must die;
Soft rot, like pumpkins left to lie,
While objects coarse succeed our death-
Naught is left of our brief bequests.
But up in heaven, in god's own eye
Is a sparkle, that is loath to die-
And if god wills it- if god weens-
That tiny light may still be seen.
Nice, very nice. Through it all there remains a glimmer of hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 6:46:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is a lovely poem. The transientness of the current life. The light within that may live on