When my day comes to
slip the surly bonds
please don’t let the church
announce it
like gossip picked up
at the grocery stand.
“Did you hear?
So sad—
her son died.”
Which one?
the lady picking out
apples asks without regard
(everything is on sale today)
When my day comes to die
treat it like bedtime
the day before.
Shut the door to tragedy
and all her ugly step-sisters.
Do not suddenly remember
my mother
you forgot until now.
Go to sleep
with me
and when tomorrow comes
wonder at how long
I can go on dreaming.
Author: David Pierce
I'm the one on the left. That's my favorite part on the right. I'm an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and the United Church of Christ. I work as Minister to a parish community in Cumberland, RI. That I could also see myself as a farmer, a cowboy, or Thoreau sitting pond-side at Walden is probably not insignificant. I don't blog about anything in particular, but everything I blog about is particularly important to me. That it may be to you as well is good enough for me.
View all posts by David Pierce
PleaseGrace 