Death, by Edith Willis Linn Forbes

Death

No grim, gaunt monster this to me;
A being fair, though strong, is she;
A white-robed maid with folded palms,
And eyes that hint of heavenly calms.   A gentle presence, silence-shod;
A swift-winged messenger of God,
Who bears upon her peaceful breast
The weary souls that sigh for rest.

poems.one - Edith Willis Linn Forbes

Edith Willis Linn Forbes