Holy Water

Holy Water

 

Every day finds her kneeling with the dawn,

Bending low on soft garden soil,

The aged face shrouded in fading sunbonnet,

Tending plants that will soon be finished.

When August comes with scorching sun,

She still bends low as if to pray,

The soft soil now dry, dry, bone dry—

Water, the only hope for her and for them.

So every day she kneels with the dawn,

Grateful for the green,

Sprinkling can in hand.

Holy water!

Water is our only hope!

We are plants, in parched earth,

Thirsting for life-sustaining drink,

We are the ones who will soon be finished

Yet every morning finds her kneeling,

Sprinkling can in hand.

Holy water!

 

Remembering Esther Frieda Ricka Krueger Schulte

August 28, 1896 - October 10, 1975

My Grandma

 

--gms