by Drora Matlofsky
Do not think that when I die,
You will see me never more,
Do not think the heavens high,
They can reach down to your door.
You heard music; that was I.
Pain that causes you to cry,
Through your endless, sleepless night,
Bitter tears that blind your eye
Turn to dreams of sweetest light.
Taste of honey; that was I.
In the graveyard where we lie,
Do not think we are mere bones,
Lifeless, soulless, loveless, dry.
Keep away from musty stones.
Scent of jasmine; that was I.
Gaze no more at birds that fly,
God is closer than you know.
Hear the wind in bushes sigh,
See the river's endless flow.
Golden sunset; that was I.
In your fruitless search for why,
Meditating riddles old,
Do not question troubled sky.
Dancing leaves of autumn gold
Kissed your forehead; that was I.
Life that made your friend so shy
Left too many things unsaid;
Someone hiding from your eye,
Whom you think is now long dead,
Loved you deeply; that was I.
Last updated July 10, 2021