Four Am, he yells, “Get up we’re late!”
Putting fast coffee on
And that’s what delayed people do.
“We’ll never get there in time.
I’ll have to leave my bags.”
And, that’s what worriers say.
Dark, raining, the old suv needle on empty
Not causing any extra grief,
And, that’s what prayers are for.
Peddling intently at 82
She implores god’s merciful grace
And, that’s what mothers do.
Worrier mumbles we’ll not arrive on time
“My stuff I’ll have to leave.”
And, that’s what the faithless believe.
Here! Arrived, from that road of fear.
Two minutes to spare, and bags on time.
And, that’s what grace procures..
“Please, don’t hug me or make a scene.”
Nodding, “of course not.”
And, that’s what autonomy concedes.
Thanksgivings whispered while turned towards home
Granted! Then, HE lends these musings.
And, thats what God’s love secures.