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.
© 2017 DavidRankinLymn
(All rights reserved)