Grandfather, Great Spirit, are there
tears on your face,
When your grandchildren weep in place?
Is your heart torn with wide emotion,
When your own are set in an ocean,
Of life's bitter thorn,
Even from the time they are born?
With all the love endowed,
Has the evil one plowed,
Your children's spirit under,
Throwing all their happiness asunder?
Do you then turn your countenance away?
For, after all, to whom do you pray?
We can speak to you and shed the tears,
Watching as each trial nears.
I read in your book that your son kept,
A promise to a friend and that, “Jesus Wept.”
Forgive my reasoning inept,
It's all with this, too much, and too in depth,
If your son, Jesus, cried over his friend's death,
Are you equally as bereft,
When your grandchildren are left,
Aching and hurting from cruel plots by the one's so deft
At slamming their joy in life they loved, even like on key and clef.
Somewhere in my heart I know
You do, though,
And, I'm soothed with your great love,
Thankful, in my imperfection, I'm able to look above.
Just to ask for a tiny sparkle of your favor,
As I wander through with our grandchildren and not to waver.
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