Dare we speak of and remember
the past pain which seemed like yesterday
yet took its place in last December?
May it be so only today.
Let our mind sift through memory’s thread
back to building blocks and figurines
or when mother tucked us into bed.
May it be that to her care we lean.
Among fleece blankets and other cozy things
the adult mind cannot keep in touch with all
but memory’s most recent strings.
May it be restrained—alcohol.
Such a vice should be avoided
but knowing is harder than doing
with sin on our body branded.
May it be that our God is still loving.
Stealing away toward future hope
no physical block or immoral fabric
can push me from God’s boundless rope.
May it be.