When at last I’ve crossed that blessed bar
And my bones are long buried in the dust,
I trust that they will become
The sturdy roots of some ancient oak;
That gives his branches to the birds.
This is the way of things in this becoming world;
Between being and nonbeing,
Between the first breath and the last,
And the long passage to a sudden end –
Life must give itself to life
Beneath the dappled shadows of the oak.
Yet, I trust from this frail beginning
That death’s final goal soars in the heavens
Among those birds born from my bones,
Where light transcends all dappling shade,
And the tears that made this dust fertile will
Deliquesce to grace that ends all ending.
Jedidiah Paschall October 20, 2018