Winter came too soon,

But words from a loving soul

Leave our hearts in bloom. 

*

For a poet never dies.  

*

And the Angel of Death 

Did not mourn his last breath 

For his soul will live on

Cradled toward a new dawn 

In the arms of the Angel of Death.

*

Every word in his writings

Leads the way,

Lights a path,

Imagines a world

Of beauty and wonder

To linger in us all. 

*

For a poet never dies.  

*

But the one who loved him most,

The silence is too loud;

Like a snowfall in the mountains,

Colors disappear.

The one left behind—alone. 

Then from the corner of a tearful eye,

In the grey, broken through, 

Fluttering about, brilliant blue, 

The envy of the sky—

A monarch butterfly.

The small gift lights upon a finger. 

Knowing it’s from him, 

A smile forms,

A fractured heart beats faster,

It’s magic from his soul once more. 

For a poet never dies!