Today I am sharing a poem by Carol Bialock, RSCJ whose funeral we have not yet had because we are waiting so relatives can come and we can have a funeral Mass. She told me she was happy to have me use her poems in my blog and I have done so in the past. Now, I am sharing this one with you.
My way makes a trail in the water like the swan, my tiny velvet trail in time.
My way is my breath, that falls and rises, a simple aliveness, as of unseen air, the bottom line of life.
My way fits like skin, a comfortable casing for the bones, as a home has walls, as a temple hides its prize.
I kneel within the mystery of my self and breathe my thank you for what is.