Michael 1975 – 1985
Thinking of Michael today on what might have been his 44th birthday.
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these; It might have been!”
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 a 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 little boys run flying a kite.
And as she rises
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.