For a blessed hour to sleep and awaken in your presence, as the dusty antique grandfather clock chimes in solemnity's hours of bereavement, to whom I am enslaved, always. My cherish of the unquenchable fires, scorching, undying, as the netherworld's watchmen appear in eve shadows - remnants of years past. All of life's anguish of regrets, and of sweeter remembrance, of seeking solace from the saints. Summertide's augustness begins to weep farewell, fading. I still hear your singing in my dream travels through the expanse of misty drapes of stars of a sapphire and golden heaven-gate, to have communion with you. ~ Love always survives Death.