In dreams now they come to me,
sweet memories from my past.
Shadowy figures I recognize,
walking those dark, misty paths.
Soft voices raised in worship,
old hymns that are sung no more.
The promise of life everlasting
when I reach that distant shore.
"Come, weary traveler, rest, sleep."
but my work is not yet done.
Though my body aches and suffers,
The Spirit and I are one.
Others mock, and they wonder
how this old man keeps going.
In their youth cannot realize,
Seeds of the future I am sowing.
There's a promise I must keep,
a final, fulfilling goal.
Work that taxes my body,
A gift that soothes my soul.
Sweet voices, I must deny you,
but only for a short while.
Soon, the bells will ring for me,
When I finish that last, long mile.
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Author Notes
Many of us who have lost most of those dear ones hear their voices in dreams, and who is to say they are not calling to us?
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