Death Nesting - Gravebound Work

I sit with you in the quiet hours, hold the weight that silence flowers. Wipe the brow, ease the breath, keep the vigil at the edge of death. I call the kin, I close the eyes, light the candle as the spirit flies. Wash the body with herbs, comb the hair, lay the linen with tender care. This is the work of the hands, this is the work of the heart. From the first to the last of the plans, I carry you home when you part. I write the name, I dress the frame, sing the hymn that holds no shame. Gather flowers, herbs, and thread, place the coin where the soul has bled. I bear the weight, I dig the ground, speak your story, sound by sound. Guide the mourners, lift the song, lay you down where roots belong. This is the work of the hands, this is the work of the heart. From the first to the last of the plans, I carry you home when you part. Gravebound work, heavy and real, the body breaks, the hands must heal. From the hospice bed to the final resting place, I tend the dead, it’s the work I embrace. This is the work of the hands, this is the work of the heart. Every breath that slips through the land, I carry you home when you part. From hospice bed to the grave, I serve, I tend, I watch, I pray. The work is heavy, the work is kind, a labor of love for the left behind.