I have no golden crown to cast
no diadem
no halo's there at all
perhaps a mask
to let me see
but not be seen
no trappings go when I do
and where I go
is not for me to understand

perhaps those bearing crosses
can see what I cannot
maybe
but when my hour is up
there's no return
to earn a place in heaven's grace
alone
the dark brown sod will be my home
where nothing can be done

as nature takes again
what she has sown
returns us all where we are bidden
by chance
its willing hand
that holds the key to every door
to everywhere that's hidden

M. Ann Waddicor 30th June 2020