MOTHER

 

When my father died my mother -
According to the family style -
Kept going; that he died
Speaking of his Lord to a sick friend
As a saint being saintly,
Comforted. Yet later she admitted
That that day her song-bird
Died in her too.
 
When her brother Tom died
That was more bitter:
Instantly, in a bookies,
As a sinner being sinful
With no known regard
For grace and faith. Had he,
For eternity,
Backed the wrong horse?

Her brother Bobby’s death

Came to her in an envelope
From an Australian social worker.
If he was a wanderer wandering
She took comfort from two words,
“His Lord”.

Now, day by day, doors close;
A bus is a step too high,
Shops a step to far, "home" -
Her birthplace - a road too long. 
In faith and grace, and mild humour,
She keeps going, patient for
Whatever translation
Her Lord has in mind for her.



Now herself with Christ