This is a poem that Dad wrote about his Friends who had passed away. Hope you enjoy this one.
The sharp cold wind is whipping snow,
This cold late winter eve.
And I can't help but think of Friends,
Who from us had to leave.
How cold and barren it just seems,
To lie there in the ground.
With winter's sharp wind whipping snow,
And blowing all around.
But then I stop and think again,
Of what the Master said.
"Come unto me, I'll give you rest,
To green pastures, you'll be led".
And then I know they do not lie
In that cold snow'y place.
But have been taken up on High,
Through God's great loving Grace.
E.H. Coe 1972
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