By Josie Whitehead

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When the lark’s shrill voice no longer calls

    And dark clouds screen the sky;

When lingering shadows brush the grass

    And eventide draws nigh;


When leaves spill down from shivering trees,

      To make a path of gold;

When dripping mist enshrouds their boughs

       And the gentle breeze blows cold;


When the darkness closes softly in

    And you know life’s end’s in sight -

Twilight’s shadowy mantle grasps

      The solitude of night.


A soft light shines around your bed;

     A warm hand reaches yours;

A face you know looks down at you,

     And your spirit softly soars.


Nightfall’s here, your day is done,

     There’s a new world now in sight,

And you gladly grip that steadfast hand

     And walk into the light.



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By Josie Whitehead


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