His Crossing Poem by Lynn W. Petty

He is dead. It is over.
Did you see his face before death came;
The cancer deepened furrows
Of his brow; the medicated dilation
Of his unfocused eyes;
His almost unintelligible pleadings
For relief from pain?
Yet, at the threshold of his crossing,
A placid recognition moved
Across his face, as if a Splendor
Approached his bed.
He seemed to see, he knew.
Was that the death his faith had taught?
Would he have embraced
With ecstatic expression a skeletal form,
Robed in cloak and cowl,
Surrounded with shadowy dread,
Chilling the hearts
Of the sick and dying?
Who would have smoothed his brow?
Who would have released
His pain or caused a smile,
Except a loving friend?
There was a sweetness at his passing.
What he saw remains the eternal
Mystery; a vision, for which
He had no fear.
I think the Angel of Death
Has been much maligned.