I remember brother’s call that morning,
Then seeing you motionless on the bed.
Your wife, confused and frantic in mourning.
Your eyes, at rest in the back of your head.
I choked speechless bursts at your eulogy,
Knowing I had lost what was never mine,
Wishing for just one more ride, you and me,
Hand on your knee—comfort you one more time.
But it’s to ashes you have now returned.
The wind blows, as grass you westwardly fade.
We watch to see what He’ll make from what’s burned.
God’s furnace makes gold from little green blades.
It’s ashes for now, glory for later.
We look upon things unseen, yet greater.