I see them in the nursing home
As they try to keep their pride.
They ask me if I'll take them home,
Because they need a ride.

Then tears well up within their eyes,
And their hands hold tight to mine.
"Soon," I whisper, "you'll be home
And all things will be fine."

I sing a song of yesterday.
For a minute they recall.
Then the blank looks back again.
It's as though they've lost it all.

They were teachers, bankers, mothers.
They were fathers big and strong,
And now their fragile bodies
Don't know where they belong.

I call their name. They don't look up.
I hug their thin small frames.
They lean on me for just awhile.
They don't even know their names.

I leave them with an aching heart.
Knowing someday I will be
Among the very many
Who have drifted off to sea.

The billows roll, the thunder roars.
Somehow the ship steers straight.
For at the helm our Master stands,
Taking us to Heaven's Gate.

-- Copyright © 2002 Carol Bouche' Ottlinger
At the age of 70 and waiting for My Lord

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