Even a speck of dust, once but no longer embodied, ensouled no longer, resting in quiet decay, even such a mote might aspire to Eternity in the Light...
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When I Turn To Dust
When in my time I turn to dust,
and feed the flowers as I must,
I hope the Angels take what's left,
and bear it into Heaven's trust,
for I do not wish to pass the time,
while weather turns from clime to clime,
as food for beetles, mites and worms,
but something more sublime,
rising from the gloomy doom,
of ages passing in the tomb,
to know the glory of a speck of dust,
in Heaven's sitting room.
Brandon
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The cemetery angel image is used courtesy of a Creative Commons license, and is originally from here.
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