Nothing Yet Poem by Linda Hepner

Nothing happens yet. It waits
Until we least expect it. You may call
And ask me 'What's up, Ma? ' the baits
To catch a whiner, not sincere at all.

And yet... and yet I fear, when you
Don't reach out, saying 'How are things today? '
Far thunderings of God come true,
The worst is happening to my dismay.

The years grow short, the longing fierce,
One silent day becomes the silent hour;
God's lightning shafts take aim and pierce
The heart of every father, pet and flower.

I thought I'd cracked the code of prayer
By seeing at the evening of my fast
That just as Powers cannot care,
Yet we can move them by our acts at last.

The cosmic proofs around us smite,
And we have caused a portion of the rage;
We cannot win, but live and fight
Intensely as our wisdom aches with age.

We do not know the next or when,
But it will come, and in this little time,
The last days of our voice or pen,
Let love say 'Call me, Ma, ' in our lifetime.