Blessed Anticipation


She had it in her

To accept the days

In clear head waiting

The body supine

The breathing

A continued privilege

The covers proving their caress.

And thoughts increasingly skyward

As clouds danced past

The one bedroom window.

Thoughts from Sunday

School stories.

Sacred readings

Or perhaps early family days

With Wil.

Precious days

When he let go

Of the railroad work

And passing vistas, farms

All the way to Erie’s docks.

But another transport waiting


And happily expected

Her God a closer

And closer.


Her memories the only possession.


Note: My Dad’s grandmother Elizabeth Watson was probably his spiritual mentor; many a summer spent with this capable woman and Lug Watson her railroad partner.

I have these thoughts as I visit my Mom at London Victoria Hospital battling complications of lung and infection. In her 93rd year now. She has thought often of fellowship with Elizabeth…bingo games, baseball, quiet pleasant talks. And of Elizabeth’s offspring Velma Edith and Bill.

Sleep Given


The tossing and turning

These trials need to end

The list still is lengthening

The fretfulness trend

But nothing the yield

From this sad loss of sleep

And prayers seeming futile

With no answers reaped

Oh child of the King

Still you lift up the cry

Resorting to scripture

For how when and why

And Christ too has suffered

Revilings of men

And feels hard your burdens

Again and again

He knows that in sleeping

You visit fresh streams

With portals soft lowering

For sweetest of dreams.