After 'It' All Poem by James McLain

Each breeze and gentle soul
lays within reposed,
and linens 'Regal' lace
doth move no more.

Upon this voyage,
'You' start again.

Each vein a troubled river
knows each more,
Alone.

Death withheld me from your eyes,
rigid, but firm, 'Death' can't disguise
the grace that formed
your fingers closed and clutched within.

Here now,
before that white'Oak' pew
crossed 'Hands' again now held,
I add mine ring, to thine.



r.b.