This is the Anniversary,
of a gentle night in May.
The call came from the nursing home.
to say you'd passed away.
You lay there still and silent
already growing cold.
The Priest already come and gone
to tend to other souls.
We whispered sweet endearments
to our mother good and kind
Released from her infirmities
marked with the Savior's sign.
I wonder did she linger there
to her our sad amens
like she listened to our prayers
said at our childhood beds.
Voices cast upon the wind
beside her final bed.
I'd like to think she heard the tears
and the prayer my sister said.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
This is the Anniversary,
of a gentle night in May.
The call came from the nursing home.
to say you'd passed away.
You lay there still and silent
already growing cold.
The Priest already come and gone
to tend to other souls.
We whispered sweet endearments
to our mother good and kind
Released from her infirmities
marked with the Savior's sign.
I wonder did she linger there
to her our sad amens
like she listened to our prayers
said at our childhood beds.
Voices cast upon the wind
beside her final bed.
I'd like to think she heard the tears
and the prayer my sister said.
Written on the Anniversary of the night our mother died.
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