For profoundly disabled Michael, who would have been 42 today – and for his mother, gone 13 years on April 19
She sits beneath a massive oak
in the Garden of Noble Women.
Garden of the Promise
for those who have borne the burden
yet never heard the Word.
He never walked. He never fed himself.
He never saw the light or heard the sound.
He never said the Word.
And when he died she buried him amidst her tears
in the lands of the Lord Calvert on the road to Padonia.
Now she sits in the quiet of a Summer’s day
waiting for the promise to be fulfilled.
On the horizon a kite and a little boy
running o’er the meadow.
Sun lit mop top hair
dancing in the breeze
Part running part falling toward her
Little fingers of his left hand leading the way
reaching for her
running like a little boy flying a kite.
He is perfection
and as she rises joyfully on young legs
she moves toward him
and sees the face of God.
The same face now perfect in His image.
And from his laughing face she hears the Word
The Word God promised
to those who bore the burden
yet never heard the word.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
.
—————————————————–
toritto 
That brought a tear to my eye. A lovely poem and a wonderful tree.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Very moving…and beautiful, too.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such a sad time of year for you, Frank. As always, you mark it with dignity, and affectionate recollection.
Best wishes, Pete.
LikeLiked by 2 people