Does Beauty Die?

She makes her way with fumbling fingers,
Gnarled, stiff, she smiling lingers,
Touching page in ragged book
Preserving date sweet vows they took.

Salvation Army tossed a line,
Brief reprieve from Father Time,
Wave was nearing, soon would crash,
Solid pew will view her ash.

Soft vibrato gracing hymns,
Quavering with ancient limbs
Engaged in battle, foe unseen,
Ever pulling, pulling seams.

Sermon sends her inward seeking,
Depths of joy, tears are leaking,
Reaper’s scowling seems to lessen,
Scenes recalled of sweet confession.

Traveled she long years of care,
Found a path and bent for prayer,
Chapel rose on humble spirit,
Gift of Grace where none was merit.

To this Fortress now she flies,
Seeking rest her world denies,
Lays her head on lovely lap,
Aches to wake from mortal nap.

Service over, all arise,
Hands firm shaken, cheeks soft kissed,
Salvation lingers, ‘dorns her chapel,
Guide ’til nought her mortal mist.

Copyright 2008-2013 by Roadrunner.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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