A Sonnet for My Son, Should He Cry

This poem was penned on an airplane. Something about a baby’s cry in that crowded sky-bus at so-many-thousands of feet inspired me; I wanted to write something for him in language that he could grow into, think over, and pray with over time. So, I took out my phone, opened my memos, and thought of my son.

For all the weary weight you may carry,
Know no burden lighter than lifted eye.
When firsthand you feel Earth heave, Hope tarry,
Clutch tight her broken wings and, in Faith, fly.

From above all is small, though wounds be raw;
Doubt toward his wounds til in His yours you see.
Lead-weighed happiness doubled by grey awe
Oft finds befitting shade under Christ’s tree.

So, bow your bruised heart, and, if needed, bend
Your eyes above, looking down on lowly Death.
Find Grace in your tears, which both pierce and mend,
And all the lonely cries you cry catch breath.

When your sadness swells with heartstrings de-strung,
God grant you peace in your sorrow, my son.

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