In a dream near dawn,

the sun was waiting
to spring the day.

It faintly defined the familiar room,

outlining the four-poster bed,
the twining ivy at the window,
your picture on the wall.

I saw a figure standing in the doorway,

waiting and quiet, not hurried.

I was not frightened. He was not unexpected.
He had come once before.
When he spoke, I recognized his voice,

soft and kind, yet firm.

“It is time to go,” he said.

—Helen Wade Alderfer, Goshen, Indiana, is part of a poetry writing group, volunteers at the local elementary school, remains active in her assisted living and church communities, and was long an editor of various Mennonite magazines. She is author of The Mill Grinds Fine: Collected Poems (DreamSeeker Books, 2009) the collection from which this poem comes (used by permission, all rights reserved).