Until that stop no longer makes you feel blue
like a stoplight turning yellow..Most will just go through
They leave behind the millions of footsteps they'd been walking, and the memories will blur
And as they stand upon the line.. A new life will surely stir
What will your legacy be?
Maybe it's the poetry left behind.
Or your care and love for those close to you, who emulate you when you are gone.
I may be way off base. Maybe it's about something unrelated to death.
Either way, provokes thought.
(probably my luggage!) seriously.... memories of the places we stopped, the beautiful scenery we saw on the train ride.... a lover who is going to fight in a war.....tears on my cheeks; my mother who is sickly...
time....
Warmly, B
Neville,
My first reaction comes from my father's end of the line, which happened with him in my arms. NOTHING happened. His powerful presence, a tall, muscular blond who always owned the room. Who gave soft orders to whoever was there, then turned away because there was no question of disobedience by his people, employees, family or friends. He stopped breathing, there was no escape of soul, wailing its way out of the room, the light in his eyes went out. The end. I wiped the tear that had collected in the corner of his eye. We sat quietly as the funeral people collected him and rolled out of the room to the waiting hearse. The end.
It would be nice if the end of my road goes as easily and as well. On the other hand, I still ride my motorcycle, so probably not...
Vol
Until that stop no longer makes you feel blue
like a stoplight turning yellow..Most will just go through
They leave behind the millions of footsteps they'd been walking, and the memories will blur
And as they stand upon the line.. A new life will surely stir