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We sat down at my old table
scene of many a reminiscence in the past.
Drank cups of tea in old worn mugs
gossiped and laughed.
Then suddenly you paused, looked at your cup, at me...
I have something to say, you said
Its cancer. Such a soft word for such an awful thing
like death, it comes softly to the tongue.
I gasped, stammered, offered more tea
you told me they could do nothing.
Yet you sat serene while I cried.
Hush, you must not grieve so, you said,
I am not upset by this news.
I have a great Hope to live by,
a Love stronger than death.
I am a Christian, I love God
I can fear no more.
I thought, if it had not been cancer
perhaps dementia would have racked you.
You saw my thought, grasped my hand
in fingers suddenly strong.
I am not senile, this is no joke,
I know Who I serve, and I know His truth.
I know that He died as I have shortly to do
then lived again for me
and now He beckons me onward
to a place He made for me.


The last time I saw you you were laughing
though so frail and ethereal.
You kept your spirits marvelously, they said,
for one about to die.
You told the world of Jesus-
every visitor to your bed
and the doctors and nurses too
He was big enough for all, you said.
The last thing that you said to me,
all sparkling eyes and smiles
was remember--
death is not the end for me
and this world is not my home.

Thank you, Broken.
That means a lot.

Broken, That was beautiful!

   
 
      :)

   
 
It's lovely to know the world is not our home.

Thank you, Broken...    :)

Very nice, Broken!