Son to Jack and Emma Gaither. Brother to Orval, Charles, Jackie and James.
Perhaps passing through the gates of death
is like passing quietly through the gate
in a pasture fence. On the other side,
you keep walking, without the need to
look back. No shock, no drama, just the
lifting of a plank or two in a simple
wooden gate in a clearing.
Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices,
but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
Mark Helprin
Perhaps passing through the gates of death
is like passing quietly through the gate
in a pasture fence. On the other side,
you keep walking, without the need to
look back. No shock, no drama, just the
lifting of a plank or two in a simple
wooden gate in a clearing.
Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices,
but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
Mark Helprin
Son to Jack and Emma Gaither. Brother to Orval, Charles, Jackie and James.
Perhaps passing through the gates of death
is like passing quietly through the gate
in a pasture fence. On the other side,
you keep walking, without the need to
look back. No shock, no drama, just the
lifting of a plank or two in a simple
wooden gate in a clearing.
Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices,
but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
Mark Helprin
Perhaps passing through the gates of death
is like passing quietly through the gate
in a pasture fence. On the other side,
you keep walking, without the need to
look back. No shock, no drama, just the
lifting of a plank or two in a simple
wooden gate in a clearing.
Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices,
but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
Mark Helprin
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