Twelve

This poem was written by one of my mother’s ancestors. The surnames I know from her family are Godwin, Easton, Falconer and Button. It was written by a woman. That is all I remember.

I don’t want this poem forgotten, so I publish it here.

Twelve

When I was twelve, my sister was sick.
So I made a cross of two straight sticks,

And I made an altar under a tree,
Hidden by brambles so no one could see.

She was so sick – I prayed inside,
“God, make her well” – and my sister died.

 

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1 thought on “Twelve

  1. Dear cousin Marcia,

    God holds all things, now and in eternity, together by the word of His power. He loves you so much that He sent Christ to die for you in order that you might have the sure hope of eternity in heaven one day. Your part is simply to turn from our sins and believe on Him. Our time on earth quickly passes, but the life hereafter is forever. What we do with Christ and his offer of salvation determines where we will be. Dear cousin, accept Jesus while there is still time.

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