Bread On The Wind

Everybody deals with this in their own way:
My dad started to curse, words to make a
sailor blush, I sent a Bible verse, tuned
the piano

My sister traversed the hospital, in compensation
I pushed her about in the wheelchair, my brother
drove 600 km’s to see our mom, my uncle drove
to the hospital

Hubby sent cash and endless bottles of wine, my
colleagues discussed the case in detail; contributing
a unique opinion, all alleviating my mother’s pain
on splintered eye socket

A young Indian intern explained how perfectly God
designed bone structure to keep eye and brain safe
in case of grave injury, I am so overjoyed and sur-
prised on discovering

Johannesburg Academic Hospital is worth its weight
in gold, the South African Government is taking care
of their own – can all my tears of joy and surprise
ever thank them?

Can words ever express my delight – never, never
in a million years can anyone say how wonderful
a society who took care of my mother who believed
Jesus implicitly

Scattered her bread on the wind, now I see it
returned – a hundred-millionfold!