Evangeline lay pale upon the bed
but a radiance seemed to be about her.
Her face, not placid, but shining
as if she were lit by some inner light.
It seemed such a pity to cover
her - such a crime to hide the beauty that now gleamed forth from
her. The tears that had been trickling slowly from her eyes, now
closed in death, were as diamonds upon the whiteness that had
once been her rosy pink cheeks.
So, Evangeline, as different as
she had been in life, was now as different in death.
Her last hours had not been painful
so no once could understand such tears. If only she had been able
to tell them - those of her friends who had gathered to see her
departure - she would have enlightened them as to the meaning
of True Love. She would have told them that she was not sorry
to leave them for she had someone to whom she was going. Someone`s
arms into which she was sinking - for they were holding her, even
now. She would have told them many things but she didn`t for they
would not have believed her.
The tears which she wept at the
end were tears of pure release - of relief - that all she had
dreamed of would now happen - her life just beginning - her True
Life with her True Love.
They say that she died of a broken
heart. But if you should every wander in that remote place and
stumble upon that hidden valley and find a heap of stones, look
carefully for a pink rose - Evangeline`s rose, which she planted
so lovingly in remembrance of that one who had reached out to
her across that Great Divide. The one who had reached out in his
longing for an earthly love. The one who had reached out to take
her soul to his soul. To take her being to his very being in a
True, Pure Love.
Let us pray that, now, they both
may rest in Peace.