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