The servers hummed across the night,
A digital bridge in silent flight,
Linking the shores of the western sea
To the quiet porch where she used to be.
From the far-off streets where the engines roar,
To the crowded steps of the old house door.
But when the hour struck at three,
The data faded, the soul set free.
The modern world was cast aside,
And logic bowed to a deeper pride.
"No wheels," we said, "no iron frame,
Shall bear the weight of her sacred name."
For when the world was small and new,
And the morning grass was wet with dew,
Her steady arms were our refuge place,
Carrying us with a mother's grace.
She held our weight when our steps were weak,
Before we knew the words to speak.
✦
So shoulder to shoulder, the brothers stood,
To bear the weight of the heavy wood.
The final debt that love commands,
To hold her high with our own two hands.
Through the dusty road, beneath the sky,
We walked the path as the crowd went by.
Step by step to the churchyard floor,
And onward still to the final door.
The tears broke loose from a heavy chest,
As the weary traveler was laid to rest.
No longer carried, no longer bound,
But lifted high by the love she found.