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The Petals of Our Darlings

The tea leaves of my brother
Resting quietly on the sill
Stir not for lingering memories
Awake within me still

Yet I know I'll see him one day
Over yon mysterious hill
His winsome form then rising
From those tea leaves on the sill

If his leaves were now mingled
With tears welling up from within
Would there lift a sweet aroma
To whisper of him again?

No, the satchels of our departed
Bring no fragrance from their days
To imbue our peripheral visions
With a tincture from the haze

Yet I know we'll see them one day
For these days of sorrow fail
Their smiling forms will rise then
From those tea leaves now so stale

For Christ shall soon come calling
And tear open startled skies
Those He knows shall waken
Those at rest in Him shall rise

Then the petals of our darlings
Lying silently in the gloom
Like Aaron's stick shall blossom
And our dead once more shall bloom

© Matthew Schilling March 2014
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