The Sweet Return (10)

Now to sleep me down I lay,

its been a Glocca Morra day.

I beg you, not before I wake,

JesusGod, my soul don't take.

'Cause there's so much I'm still to be,

to hear and smell and touch and see.

If this is it, I'll miss the smiles

when walking daughters down long aisles.

I'll miss my firstborn fight out loud

to find his voice amid the crowd.

I'll miss her empty-nested tears,

the letting go of mother's years.

I'll miss the books I want to pen,

the stories stitched with grace and sin.

I'll miss the jack of growing old,

of braying no to what I'm told.

The good book says none know the hour

but by Your wonder-working power

'pass over me' is what I pray

come back again some other day.

But should I die before I rise

I want to donate both my eyes,

give blinder flesh the glass to see

the bitter-wonderful from Thee.