The words still live, though flesh must die; <br />Soft rot, like pumpkins left to lie, <br />While objects coarse succeed our death- <br />Naught is left of our brief bequests. <br /> <br />But up in heaven, in god's own eye <br />Is a sparkle, that is loath to die- <br />And if god wills it- if god weens- <br />That tiny light may still be seen.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/living-light/
