Beyond the Final Curtain

So this is death! Speak softly lest she waken

From her deep, painless sleep to hear our sighing.

Her fragile heart that was so often shaken

Has found the crown of all content in dying.

For on her face no lines are etched of sorrow;

She has recaptured youth, forgotten sadness.

I wonder, does she find the New Tomorrow

All that she dreamed, a sphere of hope and gladness?

Her worn old willing hands, at last, are resting;

Her slowing feet are stilled, yet I am certain

Celestial heights will always find her questing,

Could we but see beyond the final curtain.

Poet's Reed