In midst of violent battles whirl
Rapt prayer brings relief
As bombs destroy what's near and dear
He comes to lift our grief
When special loved ones pass away
To nevermore return
Our Comforter with loving grace
Brings solace to death's urn
In mighty power He stands firm
When warlords fiercely rage
But will He stoop to my small room
My pain to assuage?
For I'm a lonely grandma now
My children live apart
And after visits with grandkids
Those farewells break my heart
I'm grateful for His loving grace
In battles' finest hours
But now, tonight, will He descend
And touch my empty bower?
There are no struggles left to face
No wolf behind the door
No children's tears to wipe away
No scuffmarks on the floor
Just longing eyes and waving hands
Faint laughter in my ears
As their small car turns round the bend
And quickly disappears
I wonder if a soldier's heart
Can hurt much more than this -
A grandma sitting all alone
Past times to reminisce?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sad but a most honest heartfelt lament, 'grateful for his loving grace in battles' finest hours'!