The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead. Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
That glimmer red. The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
The road o’er the plain; While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
A funeral train. The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
To the dismal knell; Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And tolling within
Like a funeral bell.
My Mother, My Angel
Once upon a time an angel held my hand. She wiped away my tears and helped me understand Our time on Earth is brief; there