Beneath leaded skies
A torn heart cries,
The pain of Sorrow's sting,
It sounds an echo in my soul
And chokes the urge to sing.
Your essence of life
Through this present strife
Escapes our mortal embrace.
In winter mist, you fade from sight,
Motionless we stand in place.
Yet spirit soars on
In endless song
Above earth's lamentation,
Amid the skirl of distant pipes
That hails a new creation.
Copyright© by Mark W. Vance
Jan. 18, 1994