It seemed I was always tired, and unable to find rest
Like a struggle within, of children calling me to do things I
Was unable to do by myself _
A candle in the window burns
In the eve, as I knock faintly,
Then turn to leave,
Then the handle of the
Door begins to turn and a
Voice invites me in, guiding
Me through a hallway,
Dark and grey,
There are pictures on the wall,
Almost as if they are of me, from
A small child to a girl, now
Grown and tall,
Another door before me opens,
As I slowly peer in, there is a
Room so grand with an hourglass
Of passing sand,
A chair sits in the middle and I
Take a seat,
There are little ones and I ask them
To come near that we may meet,
Marching by, they are forlorn,
With garments ripped and torn,
Each bearing a pail of memories,
Looking at them I realize they are
A part of me,
I give them love, wash their faces
And clean their shoes, but these
Things are not enough and will
Not do,
They respond, “please, we are
Tired and would find peace and
Rest, letting go of your anxious
Thoughts would be best.”
I now see these children I have
Ignored, have been with me
Through life’s tests,
Now it is time, as they ask, to
Give them rest!
Donna's Poetry Blog 