5.30am...today
We
ask and are answered not,
And
so we say, God has forgot,
Or
else, there is no God.
The
years
Roll
back and through a mist of tears,
I
see a child turn from her play,
And
seek with eager feet, the way
That
led her to her father’s knee.
“If
God is wise and kind,” said she,
“Why
did He let my roses die?”
A
moment’s pause, a smile, a sigh,
And
then, “I do not know my dear,
Some
questions are not answered here.”
“But
is it wrong to ask?” “Not so,
My
child; that we should seek to know
Proves
right to know, beyond a doubt;
And
some day we shall yet find out
Why
roses die.”
And
then I wait,
Sure
of my answer, soon or late;
Secure
that love doth hold for me
The
key to life’s great mystery;
And
oh, so glad to leave it there,
tho’
my dead roses were so fair.
(Author unknown)
