Poetry

When death’s fingers do me touch
do not let a preacher come
to pray for me.
 
I will walk alone with my God
who stands free from men
to meet Him face to face.
 
Do not let a doctor come
to take away the pain
or give a strain of tears
 
let me be to experience
the blazing sun setting in the west,
to see the moon rising in the night sky
 
let I live life and follow the course
that destiny design
and still make your love mine.