MY JOAN
There was an old man all crippled and worn,
His shoes had holes, his clothes a little torn,
The home was poor, nothing fancy there at all,
Except for two pictures, framed, on the wall.

One was the Saviour blessing the children, eyes serene,
Eyes that seemed to tell you, with love, He had seen
What joys and sorrows you had been through that day,
It made all pain and anguish just flee right away.

The other was of a woman with pretty white hair,
A frame of silver that looked well polished with care,
‘My Joan,’ read the words, ‘the other light of my life,
My best friend, my darling, sweetheart and loving wife.’

He placed a small bunch of flowers in a vase, with a smile,
His gnarled hands trembling, then he just sat for awhile
With a far away look on his face all wrinkled and old,
He longingly gazed at the two pictures in his home so cold.

He lit a small fire, warmed some soup and cut a piece of bread,
Then painfully folded his arms and bowed his snow white head,
‘Lord bless this food, and if it be they will take me home today,
I miss my sweetheart and my friend, it’s ages since she went away.

They found him a little time later, head still bowed in prayer,
A sweet smile on his face, a feeling like angels were there
In that tiny cold home when a weary, tired old man did pray,
And his prayer was answered, for his time was due that day.

M Ann Margetson December 29, 2001