Poetry

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Her hand, once strong and steady,
Now trembles aimlessly.
Her mind, once sharp and wise,
Deserts her in her need.
It hurts to see how aging
Treats her so unkind,
‘Till one day, my sweet mother
Must leave this world behind.

But this is only here,
This is only now,
This is just before
Death takes its final bow.
This is not the end,
For all it may appear,
God has vanquished death
And our victory is near.

A friend, dwelling far away,
Fights now for her life.
Cancer seeks to conquer
This mother, daughter, wife.
And it pains me to the core
To be too far to aid
Someone who has comforted me
Through the trials of my day.

But this is only here,
This is only now,
This is just before
Death takes its final bow.
This is not the end,
For all it may appear,
God has vanquished death
And our victory is near.

To all of those in mourning
For themselves, or one they love,
I would offer up this hope
Sent from the Father above:
That, by His love and mercy,
Shown upon Calvary,
Death has lost its power:
He is our Victory!

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