Emma, born on Thanksgiving Day,
fair-skinned daughter of immigrants –
poor but faithful, she kneels to pray.
Our servant girl from age sixteen,
strong hands scour, chop and carry;
her dedication pure – even when unseen.
Gilded lamps, jeweled gowns, foreign to her,
but a loving, child-like heart – joined
to presence of Jesus, she prefers.
She smiles and nods while we open
Christmas presents, eat birthday cake –
knowing her happiness dwells within.
With little hope for earthly fame –
she waits for rebirth in heaven,
her true inheritance to claim.
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Very lovely, as are all of your poems.
By: nubeewriter on July 8, 2012
at 2:41 pm
Thank you very much!
By: Lisa on July 8, 2012
at 3:22 pm