Oh silent grief, hidden deep
 Clothed from sight of another's brief;
 Buried low, so that no one knows
The aching longing, the burning glow.

Call me a jester, a clown or a fool,
 Grief makes of man another’s tool;
I’ll hide my tears and play the part
I'll cover with laughter my breaking heart.

And so it is in this third year walk;
Memories silenced, afraid to talk,
 Of the loved one gone, though still a part
 Of the third year grieving, broken heart.

Tears now vanquished from public view,
Though behind each laugh I long for you,
I'll play the game, the stage is set
My life entangled in it's throbbing net,

I'll walk the path, and mountains climb
 Fall in ditches another time;
Hold out my arms and call on God
Lift me from this burdened rod.

And when my journey comes to end
 I'll look back down the crooked bend,
 See the path that leads to God,
 Straight and bright with a loving throb.

I'll hear your voice and understand,
 The years on earth were just a span,
 The years that pass are just a score
Until we meet at Heavens door.

© Helen Catherine Cramer

2nd August, 1984.

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