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 the 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 designs
and still make your love mine.