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When recognition fin’lly comes
…For one who sleeps the Sleep,
He receives it not at all,
…And honors cannot keep.
It is a rain that falls upon
…A dead crop in the field
That gave its life in vain in wait
…Until its fate was sealed.
Give honor when the honor’s due;
…Let praises fall like rain,
And hold it not till eulogy
…Plows under shriveled grain.
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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n0VKz7o/Cemetery+in+winter
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.
The Bard on the Hill 