Written for my best friend who passed away at nearly 105 last month.
According to the last book in the Bible, we shall receive many rewards; one of them is illustrated in this poem.
hvit stein med nytt navn
alle snakker
om hvor vakker
du er der du ligger i silke
med foldede hender rundt rosen
hvor fint de har 'fått til' håret ditt
om hvor mange mennesker som
har mött frem her for si adjö
for siste gang, mens hjertet mitt
hopper over et slag i ekstasen
over tanken at du ikke er i kisten
men hjemme, hjemme nå -
og du har fått den stenen,
den hvite stenen med nytt navn
som vi ofte snakket om
jeg vet at du smiler
mens du stryker den
om og om igjen
så kjærlig, med
högrehanda
****
That stone
Everyone
is whispering about
how lovely you look,
lying there in silk with the rose
stuck in your folded hands,
how beautifully they were able to
do your hair and about how many people
have showed up to bid you farewell;
all while my heart is skipping a beat
with the thought that you are not in that casket
but you are safely at home, home; home now -
having received that white stone
with a new name that we so often spoke about.
I know that you are smiling
while your right hand lovingly
caresses it over and over....
Poetry by betsy Firefly
Read 854 times
Written on 2007-03-04 at 01:16
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According to the last book in the Bible, we shall receive many rewards; one of them is illustrated in this poem.
That stone/ Hvit stein med nytt navn
hvit stein med nytt navn
alle snakker
om hvor vakker
du er der du ligger i silke
med foldede hender rundt rosen
hvor fint de har 'fått til' håret ditt
om hvor mange mennesker som
har mött frem her for si adjö
for siste gang, mens hjertet mitt
hopper over et slag i ekstasen
over tanken at du ikke er i kisten
men hjemme, hjemme nå -
og du har fått den stenen,
den hvite stenen med nytt navn
som vi ofte snakket om
jeg vet at du smiler
mens du stryker den
om og om igjen
så kjærlig, med
högrehanda
****
That stone
Everyone
is whispering about
how lovely you look,
lying there in silk with the rose
stuck in your folded hands,
how beautifully they were able to
do your hair and about how many people
have showed up to bid you farewell;
all while my heart is skipping a beat
with the thought that you are not in that casket
but you are safely at home, home; home now -
having received that white stone
with a new name that we so often spoke about.
I know that you are smiling
while your right hand lovingly
caresses it over and over....
Poetry by betsy Firefly
Read 854 times
Written on 2007-03-04 at 01:16
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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F.i.in.e Moods |
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Kathy Lockhart |
