In vicarage garden on a bench
Frail old vicar sits caressed by autumn breeze
Overcoat, scarf, hat, gloves against the cold
Pondering on gifts God bestowed.
Wife, children, friends, kind neighbours
He gives thanks for his long life
Given in service for others without complaint
Toiling in his Lord's vineyard harvesting souls.
Feels sharp pain in his chest
Life like sunlight at dusk begins to fade
From the shadows steps two familiar figures
Cherished parents long since passed.
"Your time has come, " his father says
And taking the old vicar by the hand
Leads him towards a dazzling light
Welcomed at Heaven's gate by Angels.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem