Grief Poem - Lead Us Gently

As we grow old, our hair turns gray, oh, yeah! We're made of clay.

Where's the thrill of yesteryear? We sit alone each day.

We miss our dear ones, oh, so much, Lord, help us when we're low!

Our bodies healing takes so long ... of this You surely know.

Empty, lonely, lower that dirt; our dear ones died, they're gone.

Oh, Lord, we ache and still we hurt, why do we linger on?

Useless, hopeless, we're like dead trees. Where's hope in our last days?

If we have strength to read Your Word, we'd sit here, giving You praise.

If we're too weak to read much more, lead us safe, Your way.

Protect us, Lord, us and our 'kin'; until it's our last day.

Thank You for sending friends our way, when we are deep as 'dirt',

When we're too sick to Pray to Thee, friends know that we do hurt.

This 'clay vessel's' about done in from all its aches and pain.

What joy to get to Heaven, Lord, where troubles are unchained.

Dear Lord, thank You for dear strong friends, as Grief causes despair.

We know our help does come from You[1], Your love's; beyond compare.

Help us to sense when we should pray for someone with a need.

Another one with burdens weighted, for them we'll intercede.

Prairie Winds - 2023

[1] Psalm 121: 1,2 "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth."