Like Water

In loving memory of my aunt who first saw Jesus with her eyes on March 1st, 2015. 

Like water passing through your hands

and falling down again;

like a river flowing near

then streaming on again;

like chilly rainfall pouring down,

refreshing us again,

is this simple wooden box,

this mound of dirt, the graveside marker

dust to dust again.

We knew the playful teasing eyes

that laughed and loved again;

the hands that purchased food for friends

and cleaned it up again;

the voice that asked you how you were

and really cared—again,

is not inside this wooden box,

this mound of dirt, this graveside marker–

Dust. Just dust again.

All rivers pass on to the place

from which they came again;

some flowing strong like melting snow

some trickling in again;

but some come bursting o’er their banks

and rushing on again,

a work of God, a heavenly marker,

life to life again.

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