Dylan's Gone Poem by Kurt Philip Behm
Dylan's Gone
Dying alone on foreign ground,
death grips his blessed hand
Never choosing time or place,
uncharted
—the Angels plan
An oak to fall on alien soil,
all seeds to heaven thrown
His words cast free to light the dark,
that ‘Good Night'
—now his own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January,2017)
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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9/14/2025 4:42:35 PM # 1.0.0
