Death Poem

There Is A Residue of Hope

Author: Nicholas Gordon

There is a residue of hope
In every act of grief,
A beauty at the source of pain,
A truth that brings relief. 
Mourning is a morning song
Sung just before the light,
Though little else is visible
To those that watch the night. 

And all our tears must turn to grass,
And all our sorrows be
But dissonance that we'll resolve
In some new harmony. 

And all our pain must shine upon
The meadows of our grace
That you might share our happiness
And lend our light your face. 

Ah, Father! Yes, the music plays
As we dance in the sun,
For dawn returns the joy of life,
And we must all dance on. 

Ah, Father! Yes, we must dance on
And leave you far behind,
Though love undo the dying day
And comb the rising wind.