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It Is Well With Her Soul

A poem about my Great Aunt Kathleen





"I don't remember you",

She said

"Is this the livingroom?",

She asked.

"I dont remember anymore",

She told me.


I played the song,

To pass the time.

She walked in and sat.


The confusion on her face melted,

A smile overcame her mouth.


She licked her lips and began to hum.

Through arpeggios and broken chords,

She found the melody and sung.

Softer I played, to hear her quiet voice singing.


She looked out the picture window,

To view the brick Church house.

Dazed and still, the words began to flow,

"It is well, it is well with my soul".


I played it three times over.

And three times I heard her sing,

those same words.


She turned and smiled at me,

And nodded with approval.

She spoke words of kindness.

"You play so well", she told me.


"Thank you", was my reply.

"Let's go and sit in the den".


I lead her to her chair.

She looked to me and followed,

Though not remembering who I was.


Through disease and grief.

Through confusion and fear.

Though forgetting our name, our face

And this place.


She remembers His grace.

She remembers His faithfulness.

She knows His love.


And it is well with her soul.



 



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