Lead me to the westering sun
Allow it to bring me home
Where every breeze is gentle and spry
And my soul can go, enlivened, into the night
Leave all my works warm and undone
Mourn not a foundation loam
Stars wink at me, inviting and blithe
The songs they sing ever on the wing are far less trite
Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash
December Rose 