a poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen, Denmark


You told me
You are sick
You are no longer
the active one,
the young woman,
mother,and wife.

Now at the age of 82
your eyes are no longer bright
Your knees jerk in pain
when you try to stand
Your memory you cannot trust
but you still manage to write
to tell how much you miss us
And how much you want
to see us and your grandchildren
as your last wish in life.

Wonder of all wonders
You still hold on to
that daily routine
since I was a child,
of rising up early morning
with the crowing of the cock
at every early dawn
to raise your prayers to God.

Every dawn you continue
to intercede for all your children
Naming each name before the altar,
a constant prayer and plea
for their health and happiness.
You also pray for your neighbours
for the church and for almost
everything under heaven.

I simply wonder
what happens
if you are gone
You have supported
us with your prayers
without stop
In the all the years
in my life
You have mentioned
our case to the
Throne of grace.

Mother, thanks
for silently protecting us
through your bended knees.

May 10, 2010

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