(The Sun, Edvard Munch,1910–11)


Don’t despair, my son

Mortality is just a word

A meaning that holds no value

It touches me not

It worries far too many

It scalds you


I say, “Live!”

Wake to the morning light

(It is the closest thing to God; it is the closest thing to me, now)

Breathe in the cool breath of the heavens

See the beauty of His reason

And worry not

For do as the birds who rejoice in song at the crack of dawn

Open your eyes and see what they gaze upon

A moment, a gift, a lifetime of memories that are only fleeting

Death only a door to another flight of our souls


(For Helen Francis Correia,  8/17/25 – 6/3/17. May we all have a journey this long; a legacy so blessed.)

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