God's Withered Rose
I’m not a rose so withered
my heart can no more ache;
nor have I ceased to will to give
though it’s now my lot to take.
For time has done its number
on my old and dying shell,
but still inside this framework
is a person. Can’t you tell?
A person who once laughed and played
in the sunshine of my youth,
loved and had a family,
raised them in the Truth.
The joys I shared in friendships,
the sorrows shared in loss,
I still desire to share again,
though that avenue seems lost.
I’m imprisoned – could you visit me?
Just let me know you see
that despite my feeble, dying frame,
it’s still worthwhile to know me.
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