Restless heart, keep faith. Remember to breathe,
struggling lungs. Weary eyes, focus on light
in her smiling portrait, in Christmas wreathes
circling future’s flickering candles, bright
with hope from honest actions. Whatever
the night promises, hold close the tattered
book, its stories so brave, sad and clever
at once due to spirit’s grasp. What mattered
to our psyches long ago—gentle touch,
soft whisper of sacred truth—matters still.
What holds us on course—frames steadied with such
balance, we sight our goal through tears: souls filled
with silent belief, gift of years we’ve spent
clasping joy, fending grief, both heaven-sent.
Roger Armbrust
April 4, 2013
