Sunday, August 21, 2005


This post is for my folks..

Death is only an old door, Set in a garden wall.
On gentle hinges it gives at dusk, When the thrushes call.
Along the lintel are green leaves; Beyond the light lies still.

Very willing and weary feet, Go over that sill.
There is nothing to trouble any heart, Nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only a quiet door In an old wall.
~ Nancy Byrde Turner ~


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