The escort

A white carriage, light as sky, steered by a pair of holy horses. At their reins, a dame in a caped robe with the sheen of swan feathers. Her smile shimmers. -Who are you? he asks. -Worry not, my friend. For he tells me you have not, ever, bathed in luxury, succumbed to lust, nor did you abandon anything or anyone when you felt most discouraged. You've always waved wrath aside, and never have you swallowed gluttony, befriended greed, felt envy or suffered pride. I am the lady of the heavens. Come, she says as her eyes reflect the sainted sun. And cirrus clouds that have roamed the sky for so long, seen many lands, met a thousand smiles and frowns, simply, gently, evanesce.