Hot stove, pretty girl,
All is relative, he said,
So I know this day.
In the winter cold,
I cannot remember heat,
That we have today.
When my thoughts are full,
Occupied by something grand,
“Heat?” I think, “What heat?”
She in iron lung,
Grabbing life for all it’s worth,
With her endless faith.
I could not do that,
As I’ve thought since a small child,
And therein lies truth.
She did not give up,
Paralyzed through all her days,
Many years of love.
Maybe she lost faith,
But she persevered throughout,
Her life saw much joy.
Phyllis is not here,
But her truth has stayed with me,
Beacon of the light.
Though we were not kin,
She was part of all of us,
As we served her, too.
On the sign I saw,
“Root of joy is gratitude,”
Thank you for her life.
All is relative,
What we think and what we do,
Light or dark, we choose.
Why not choose the light?
Even when there seems no end,
To the dark of night.
Luckily for me,
Time was kind and I’m still here,
Living in the light.
I am grateful for,
Endless blessings, even night,
All is relative.
Now we hope the light,
Can withstand the current dark,
Love can overcome.
Light and Dark: Riding the Waves 