It Is True

His clock set on the mantle.
It's chime had faded nigh.
My God decided it was time
though I had wondered why.
Not once had I heard father say,
"My Son, I love you."
I guess I'd always wondered if.
Did he? Was it true?
---
I saw a paper on his desk.
A quill, upon it, laid
and it had held some words in ink
that soon came to my aid.
It seems he wrote his final thoughts
right there before he died.
His hand had dropped the feathered pen.
His inkwell spilled and dried.

There comes a time when someone else
must take a favorite quill,
the quill that wrote so many words
and these that I hold still.
When all his words had been used up,
the last few left his soul.
His strength had left his body then.
God's clock had taken toll.

But joy survives the darkest night
when Jesus lights the dawn!
And though the dearest poet fades,
his words are never gone.
They're written for the ages and
they're never obsolete.
They're just as true as they were then
and lovingly complete.

I sat upon his wooden chair
that saw some better years
and when I read the words he wrote,
I burst out into tears.
His hand had shaken violently
where smears of ink had dried
and it had pulled tears down my cheeks
for years after he died.

I stared again at his last words
though splattered so with ink
and read each word quite carefully,
then paused a bit to think.
Expressed, he did, his final thoughts
on paper I now cleave.
Because he spilled his life on it,
I really do believe.
---
His clock set on the mantle.
It's chime had faded nigh.
My joyful tears flow once again.
His words the reason why:
'Dear father, I love you'.
But I love you, my  Son.
Believe me. It is true."

Jan Bagwell

God Bless !

To  My Sons  David  and Scott Bagwell