We did not only let them sing the song
to praise the God Who made the one we loved.
We helped them. All good mourners long
to fill the air with hope, nail-scarred,
for split skies; sunrise.

We sang, hearts numb.

We did not only let them toss the dust
to cover up the temple that we loved.
We helped them. All good mourners must.
The mound beneath our feet was marred
by mud pies, tear size.

Even so, Lord, come.

---

Some words from the poet:

When our youngest brother Edward drowned in 2015, I wrote a grief-related poem for each of my nine surviving siblings. This was one of them.

---

Sheila is a Pennsylvania housewife who shares love, laughter and the hope of the resurrection with her welder husband, Michael, and their seven children born from 2007 through 2017.