The Bent Stem

Her mind fades
it comes and goes on different days.
Her trusting soul so fragile, 
seeking friendly faces, loves to laugh.

Her face looks at me
with loving eyes, holds my hand, 
as if I were the only one left
and says with love, “This is my son”.

On other days, just tears
alone, in fear, lost.
And she asks once more “take me away
back to my home, away from here

to where I was born
to be with mother.
My husband, is that him over there?
Why does he not come visit me?”

“Mother”, I say, “ He passed away long ago”
She looks into my eyes,
“And my mother?”. “She too,” I say. 
“And my beloved sister, and brothers four?”

I nod, saying yes with my eyes
“So I am the last, just me.”
Within the hour, she asks once more
“My husband, is that him over there?”

Holy Spirit rest upon this sweet soul
that torment and fear be gone.
Your Spirit rest in her heart, mind and soul.
With all her strength, You she loves,

but she is a bent stem now,
a broken iris, with heart to bloom.
Bless her this day, 
let her flower once more.  

© 2021 Craig A Roberts
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