Grief Poem - Lead us gently
Last updated 10/8/2021 at 7:35am
As we grow old, and our hair turns gray; what's in the future for us of clay?
Gone are the days of vigor and vim, our limbs are weak and our eyes grow dim.
Where's the excitement of yesteryear, where is the future that once was clear?
We sit along, all the live-long day, are we just waiting to pass away?
Lord, we ache with every kind of hurt, empty and lonely and lower than dirt.
Most of our colleagues are dead and gone; why, oh why, Lord, do we linger on?
Ravaged by fire, we're like dead trees, useless and helpless against the breeze.
What's there to hope for in our last days? Are w...