Naomi Poem by Frank Avon

She will be ninety-five next month,
tiny, frail, fragile,
but healthy
and alert.

For sixty years, she's suffered
tragedies most of us avert,
a bitter divorce,
despair and attempted suicide,

single parenthood,
financial responsibility,
isolation from family,
years of trauma, years of concern.

With all her five children,
she's suffered disasters;
eventually she's lost three, and
one of her three grandchildren,

yet still
she is cheerful,
seeing the lighter side of life,
serene.

She was always my model.
Early on, she pointed the path,
she held high the standard,
always loyal and gracious.

To be happy, she says,
you must do something,
love something,
and look forward to something.

* * * * *

The moon is bright tonight,
not quite full,
ovate,
enwrapped in an aura.

If I should hear it speak,
out of its grace and patience,
its loveliness and light,
the moon serene,

or if I should hear it sing
a winsome air,
brightening the night,
I'm sure what it would say:

To be happy,
you must do something,
love something,
and look forward to something.

So hear my praise and prayer:
for things I still can do,
so many I have, to love,
and more to look toward.

Amen.