When sand turns to dust
There is no more to say-though
I look for your sweetness
At the end of each day
It is hard to smile brightly
With danger so near;
It is hard to see kindly,
The way is not clear
As I watch the clay harden
Each wrinkle a tear
I sit in the ashes
And know you are near.
So sing to me gently
Each teardrop your kiss
As long as I linger
There’s no more to miss.