The Best is Yet to come

Days are long,

And night drones on,

The sky is an endless stream,

Sleeping comes,

Once cold day is done

And night brings on a dream,

The sun will rise,

The sun will set,

The trees will creak and moan

The years will pass

And through looking glass

Reflects an age old crone

Many moons she knit and sewed

Long had she slaved over hearth and stove

All for naught but this

She slaved alone

For her only home,

All for life's cold kiss

Now as she lays upon her bed,

Death hovers above her head,

And a song is upon her tongue

Though memories are grim,

And death fills mind and limb

The best is yet to come