What do you do when a poet dies?
When Maya died Oh how I cried.
When Maya died Oh how I cried.
Who will give us the words from the other side.
A poet, a scribe, a teacher, a preacher, a prophet, a leader
a woman, a friend, a voice, a gift, a treasure.
Who now will be our guide.
She stood as a monument.
As one heaven sent.
Did we listen?
Did we learn from the words she did teach?
The songs, old and full of the Spirit.
Her voice rang loudly, but did we hear it.
Hear the voice of God move on the Waters.
The piercing stillness as He spoke.
Spoke through the prophet and preacher.
His voice loud and clear.
Poetry of courage, poetry of respect.
Giving us words full of joy and fear.
Not fear of man, but of God.
Reverence for His Love and Wonder.
All, is in all, she would say.
Oh, child of God.
Rest in His love.
The love you held so dear.
We'll tell your lessons and recite your the words.
Words spoken from a poet's pen and an orator's lips.
They'll stay in the low places they were meant to fill.
They'll forever be meat and marrow to our bones.
We hear the call.
We'll listen for the voice of God.
We'll be His scribes.
Because that's what you do when a poet dies.
