Single slip of paper withthree words scrawled upon it,
offered to the flames two years ago.
Cry for help with circumstance
beyond control, not understood,
great truth too deep for me to see,
somewhere between
extremes of black and white,
right and wrong, sacrificed into
the care of One who
promised long ago to send
me Joy. Ashes placed upon
my forehead not just by learned
minister but trusted friend.
Two years down the road,
my forehead's unmarked countenance
announces piety isn't what,
perhaps, it should be but my
heart's the same. No, that
isn't true. In two years' time
such seeds of Joy were planted!
Watered, placed within, beneath,
above the light of love.
They grew.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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