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. 

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