Poem June 12, 1989 Issue

Forgiveness

Patricia P. Wilson

Oh, Absalom! Your brother's
evil deed led me to wrath,
and you to hate. It could
have ended there. Forgiveness
would have worked its balm.

During all those years
when you were stealing hearts,
surely you knew I could have
called a halt. But even when
you armed yourself, and sought
to take my throne, I charged
my people to deal gently
with you, for my sake.

Here in my chamber I have wept
a lake. Oh, might it have been
I who died, instead of you!
But there is comfort. The
Great Shepherd sees me through.
I know that He will guard and
guide you too, my son.

So mourning must begin to cease.
The time has come to rise.
I wipe the tears from off my eyes.

But, son...

I take you with me in my heart,
where you have always been—

will ever be.

Patricia P. Wilson

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