One's Last Day

ONE’S LAST DAY

I wandered on the white sand wearily,

Passing through the world’s dreary, old school.

One must be either a sage or a fool,

When it comes to one’s last day, you see.

The clouds above were white,

The sea below was an azure blue.

I waited for the breezy night,

To bury my sorrow, to drench my rue

In waters that rolled

Like billows painted by the hand

Of any good artist, considered grand.

Beneath the living moon I strolled,

And I found to my profound delight

That paradise alone

Could properly marry vine with stone,

Beyond this vale, in eternal light.

~John Lars Zwerenz