Should fate be harsh and come too soon,
And fell me like a tall oak hewn,
Take heart and do not waste much tear;
My spirit will be near my dear.

I pray that you would find relief,
That you would not dwell long with grief,
Instead grasp faith and do not fear;
My spirit will be near my dear.

My plea to God would be heard loud,
Like summer thunder above cloud,
In dreams I’d whisper in your ear;
“My spirit will be near my dear.”

Should fate be harsh and come too soon,
My spirit will be near my dear.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

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