Swept clean by his mothers broom
In the doom n' gloom|
Sat all alone in an empty room.
Swept clean by his mother broom.
He pondered his chasms
of heart's dismay.
His lose, woe,
will he see a better day.
The crisp morn n' the empty night
No more the burden of trouble n' strife.
The long walk to love has not ended.
For air n more the mortal coil
Memories linger on. that counter foil.
Where dust to dust, or burial soil
Spread with reverence no more the daily toil.
© 2018 DavidRankinLymn
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