Should early morning sunrise skip
A day or two and nighttime stars
All disappear from view, would you
Be there to hold my quaking hand?
When cherubic celestial wings
Begin their white, feathery molt
And fall to earth as virgin snow
Will you be down below with me
To warm and tender through the storm?
If all laughter turned to sadness
And music sounds on Mans deaf ears
Will we ever hear our laughter
Once the teary, tidal waves’
Incursion floods our precious shore?