Friday, May 24, 2013

THE GRAVES

My father’s grave—a solemn place;
Still yet, I see his haggard face,
His pain—the suffering—at his end;
My God!  Spare me that dark fate’s friend!

And on I walked across a field,
Once grass and rocks and dirt;
Each step through granite stone and bone
Gave wince with someone’s hurt.

And grieve, ye son!  Tis time of death;
Hold fast Dad’s hand with his last breath;
There’s chance to mourn and time to cry. . .
And kiss the soul with last goodbye.

At last I saw it tinted pink,
The stone that bore her name
I came to stand at Mother’s grave,
Filled with useless shame.

They crowded round his bed and prayed;
I held his hand and long I stayed
With brother talking of our Dad
Until we knew his soul had fled.

But Mother died alone with God;
It shouldn’t be that way.
No tears I’ve shed; I choke them down,
For guilt might wash away.

One day comes tears for Mom deserves the best;
I cried as Dad joined God in final rest;
I know that both are Heaven touched and blessed.
I can’t forget the lonely way Mom passed.

                                    --Monty Wheeler

2 comments:

  1. Brings back memories of my father's struggle with cancer and my visits to the cemetery where his body was laid to rest.

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  2. There will always be moments of regret, thankfully as we move forward we take action against creating more; a poignant poem of loss.

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