Calm and serene, submissive to her fate, She stands upon the threshold of that room Where long lost loved ones wait for her to come, And never more will she recall the gloom Of many weary days in this dark life When stars and moon, and flowers bright and gay, And sunsets like great iridescent shells Were from her keen enjoyment snatched away. And @3I@1 who need her so! How can I bear To face life's ills without her tender love, To hear no more her patient, gentle voice, As sweet and soft as that of mourning dove? I may not go with her through that closed door, To hold her hand and find paths that are kind; Oh angels, smooth the way before her feet -- Guard well my little mother who is blind! |