To die in grace
Requires a common place
None too exuberant a demand
But to lay at peace with few at hand
A priest may be humbled
In a wake of sincere trust
With a smile raised cheekbone
A chalice in cusp
The wine of the old
So somber and cold
With few friends around
Freeing silence found
A laugh to the self
Is a redeeming factor in death.
Copyright, 2010, Christopher Baird--all rights reserved.
Contact me for reprint/posting permission.
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