There is a sandcastle blowing past me.
The wind whips my plain face,
Lashing me with grains of sand.
It stings.
The ocean is roaring.
The seagulls, soaring
Above my head
Make me think about being dead.
Would my spirit fly--HIGH!--
Like these birds in the sky?
And could I drift and float
And then soar some moreAnd sail like a boat
And glide and dive,
And arrive in Heaven?The sandcastle is beautiful.
So is death.
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