His footsteps shuffle down the hall
A forty-three year walks like he’s ninety,
Where once he walked with purpose and strength,
Now he drags shadows of illness that upon him fall,
As if in his life he’s given his all-in-all.
His dear, dear face is guant and drawn
Whiskers grow in new shades of gray and white,
Upon his face lines of faith wet with tears
He shuffles down a path on Winter’s Lawn
Searching for another days sun to dawn.
His breath is shallow and he is worn
From the walk from bed to bath,
He struggles to sit down before he falls,
This man whose heart to God’s he’s sworn,
Beloved husband and father now so forlorn.
His body wastes away more each day,
Doctor’s have no hint of what’s wrong,
A “let’s see what happens” kind of attitude
Have they heard nothing of what we say?
How can he live on in this fading way?
He’s walked by faith over half his life
Believing God, You’d always see him through,
Trying to give You, Lord his all-in-all,
For twenty-three years I’ve been his wife
Witnessing this cuts like a thousand knives.
His head now on his pillow lays sweet,
Exhausted from walking a twenty feet trek.
And I watch over him as he has me before
Is he still breathing? I check in his sleep.
As my heart clings to our God and I silently weep.