I listen to the beat,
by Bernadette Rushfirth
the beat of a heart,
each tender thud sounding so far apart.
Will he awake or will he be still?
we all know this illness can kill.
He used to be so happy so far from gloom,
if only our love would help him bloom.
He'll break the shell and emerge with wings,
his body wont fight but drawn to the light.
His spirit will rise with all pure thoughts,
never again will he be distraught.
Our love will never die always to be pure,
how long will he last? nobody's sure.
Life is everything that's what he used to say,
only yesterday did it change to I'll be gone someday.
We will prey every night always remember,
those few nights in mid December.
All by the loved ones who cared the most,
easter to Christmas cutting the roast.
Deep in our souls,
the bottom of our hearts,
we all loved him to bits right from the start.