Closing the Door 

              Joyce Burns






My footsteps echo down the hall,

but no one hears except the walls. 

Thoughts of you race through my head,

my heart lies broken, my love, is dead.


I go out flying on the night,

praying somehow youíll make it right. 

But night grows old and you donít come.

I grow so tired Iím finally numb.


Sleep, take me home; take me away,

this time the painís too much to take. 

Canít pick the pieces up again . . .

Iím finally broke and I canít mend.


God take me home, and let me rest . . .

shelter me in your loving breast. 

For I have lost my only love.

Iíll go to be a snow white dove.