Something Good.

It comes dressed in white and in black,
a veil and a shroud folded in the same cloth.
The bells toll, the choir sings,
is it for the kiss or for the grave?
I cannot tell,
only that joy and sorrow walk arm in arm,
like old friends who never learned to quarrel.

I ask the question she once asked:
How will this be?
And Heaven answers, not with proof,
but with presence,
a promise too vast for my trembling hands.