I Lurch

This day, sitting in our small living room, roused from rest, I determined to excuse myself to do something useful. I went to fetch my pens from my jacket pocket. Coming back, along our tiny hall, I lurched – smack into a picture on the wall.
 
Molly quickly rose to rescue me, forgive me, then clean up my mess of shattered glass and picture frame. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s a poem of mine. A friend did the calligraphy, and I framed it then.” And I, old man, had made a mess of it. “Stand back,” she said, “I’ll clean it up.” No chiding words. Her art piece on the floor. I, mortified. But she, all grace, put the lovely piece in my hands.
 
Out of my repentance, I copy it here for you to see this loving work of my dear wife, put to artistic form by her friend:
 
                    LET   this frail soul sing!
                    ALL   life an offering
                THAT   is attuned to thee.
                        IS   there, by grace, eternity
         WITHIN   this frame? GIVE
                     ME   a song to live,
           PRAISE   shall be my breath.
                    HIS   life my words, death.
               HOLY   tempo, beating strong
              NAME  divine, my joy, my song!
                                                      m rouner  
 
So, out of crashing glass and broken frame, I pick up pieces and try to give you back the wondrous words of the one I love, as the Psalm touched her, long ago, and brings back, on this spattered day for us. These healing words that the Psalmist gave my own beloved singer of songs, with which to mend the broken things of this day, today.
 
So may we all find hurt healed in these days of so many wounds around us.
 
Love to you all,
Arthur