HOME FROM THE PARTY

March 5, 2003

Again I saw my precious wife,
Not alive, but in a dream;
Again she dulled the painful strife
That renders lives not what they seem.

This dream flashed back across the years:
My youngest child was just fifteen,
An age of laughter, and sometimes tears,
Always child, yet still a queen.

The party over, she said, "Dad,
Let's go home and talk to Mom;
I want to share the fun I've had,
A junior in this senior prom".

Mom, a teacher, tired from grading,
Was asleep on our wide bed,
And gently, not her sleep invading,
Dad laid down at her feet, Glenda at her head.

What comfort those sweet feet gave
As I drifted off to sleep;
How many times they'd rushed to save
From pains that cause strong men to weep!

Her body sleeps and endless sleep,
Which none can say about her soul,
But here's a thought I'll always keep,
Her soul will always make me whole.

And so I know that even now
Angel feet run to our cause,
And I know that she somehow,
In our behalf, gives heaven pause:

She entreats God, in his great love,
To witness pain our sad hearts feel,
And by that love, from heaven above,
His kindest comfort to reveal.