The Sweet Hereafter Poem by James McLain

As I lay here sleeping not yet quite awake,
They the great poets pass by me and some not all
Come in and speak as they shake me.

Some left a mark in their hurried lives, perhaps
Blessed with the gift that gave them insight,
That time would grow short, that winter's arrived.

God's children we all once we're, covered in dew
Like fresh hay, uncut left in the Meadows.
Who left their mark, who left something behind?
Will your name be remembered for being generous and kind?

As I lay sleeping, the great hereafter uncluttered and full,
Filled with candle's the light burning from both ends.
My greastest worry having never of met them, will they
When they meet me, welcome me home or send me out forth
To great you my brethren.



Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2018