Our hearts tremble as we behold Her -
Her beauty graces Earth everywhere
We kneel before Her in gratitude -
For we know She blesses us from birth
We surrender to Her,
In whose Love we have grown
With a wave of Her hand,
tired faces we have known vanish -
She beckons us to stand, and as we do,
We see a golden band 'round Her finger
In its center is a pearl -
She takes our hands
We feel our world unfurl
Our pasts are let be -
Our futures wait patiently
We stand before Her
Our blossoms unfolding -
Our hearts tremble as we vow
to bring forth fruits
from roots, eternal
which have grown deep in our souls
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson6 days ago in Fiction
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