poetry rotator

Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below
John McCrae

The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Because their words have forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Dylan Thomas

So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
William Shakespeare

when life is done.
I'd like to leave an echo whispering
softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.
Unknown