Courage of the Innocent

I hold her hand upon her bed, bones brittle, skin thinning and clear.
Tubes and wires about her head, my whole body is shaking in fear.
Cancer came for one so fair, robbing and wrecking her life.
Chemo took her curly hair, and soon she goes under the knife.

“It isn’t fair,” I cry in the dark of night, when my soul lays bared to my God.
“Why her and not me,” I mourn for her plight, “I should walk the path that she’s trod.”
But she doesn’t complain at the needles and pain, as the doctors prepare for theater.
and she quietly goes where nobody knows and she doesn’t rebuke her creator.

It is said that saints young and old are not always the valiant and bold.
Yet, I disagree as I’m forced to see her courage as she’s laying there cold.

Autumn Outing

Grandfather and grandson walk together.
Mother carries a red basket.
She smiles in the chilly autumn sun.
To row, to row, to the island on the lake.
Blanket on the sheep mown grass.
Laughter from the boy as Mother looks on.
The vixen watching from the trees, concerned, vanishes.
Grandfather plays a little, but holds his chest.
Honking geese vee to the south, avoiding the coming winter.
Mother walks grandfather to the rowboat.
A loon cries upon the black waters.
There is a tumble and a splash, then silence.

…Complete silence…

“Where are you?” cries the child.
He waits for her, impatient, shivering.
The playful breezes dance the leaves.
He swings his legs, sitting upon the dock.
A lone frog croaks amidst cattails.
Grandfather’s cane rests in the boy’s lap.
The rowboat floats with its belly to the sky.
The mountain water is cold upon the boy’s feet.
The sun is setting beyond the lake.
His tummy grumbles in hunger.
The crickets chirp in the brown saw grass.
The lake closed today for the winter.
Mother’s hat floats upon calm water.