One day, we shall all be a memory,
Walking in the footsteps of yesterday.
Look in the mirror my children;
You will see tomorrow's ghosts.

Golden bells nestled against the trees,
Chanukah lights blazing towards the sky,
Kwanza gifts passing from hand to hand,
Yet an elderly wrinkled lady squats in the snow;
Honey, can you spare a dime?

Children sparkling smiles with their eyes,
Incense burning throughout the midnight mass,
Rainbow lights sparkling and glowing from tree to tree.
Yet, a wrinkled man squats in the gutter;
Honey, can you spare a dime?

My long suffering has ended.
Gone are the sharp pains only partially blunted by morphine.
Like winter into summer, my tears are now perpetually frozen
Into the joy of death.
Stillness for me reflexes a lack of suffering