I look at you asleep in the dim
Dining room’s post meridian gloom
And think, how fortunate is this room
To have her there youthful and slim –
On her bunched fingers her sweet chin rests
Whilst every side-effect she bests
None can taunt with “You can’t win”
Her fighting strength is at its peak
For though she slumbers she’s not weak
She’s restoring – beneath her skin
Are all those years surviving me –
What greater challenge could there be?
Our prayers go up to God above
Buoyed up with the strength of our love.