by Gloria S. Akande

Created on: November 13, 2009

The quiet man, the man of few words speaks no more.
Lying he upon the bed while his son-in-law calmly soothes him
Stroking him above the brow while counting one, two three, four.

The priest entering solemnly, anoints you and administers the rites.
Deliberately speaks he into your ear, telling us you hear.
Oh! Blessing send from heaven, waiting angels from the heights.

Two daughters singing as they once did in harmony to witness
Psalms of praise and thanksgiving to the Creator for the good man.
Oh! Such a testimony to a life of servitude, never a regret, no bitterness.

The third daughter is coming on the wings of the great dove very soon.
Father from your bedside we take leave to bring her to you
Muffled and labored now becomes each breath, the last may be soon.

Two daughters by pavement with sounds of screeching wheels ago
By corner streetlight they turn, when speed of angels wings vision blurs
Sight and sound in a world distorted which is the right path to go?

Father is going! The nurse said, Stay! Wait for your daughters!
He opened his eyes and shook his head, and said "No!"
Back to the floor through trial and sorrow come three daughters.
"I'm sorry, he is dead." Angels and he did fly to eternity, we know!

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