I stretch out my arms for Martin …
If only I’d have dug his well deeper,
but if he for me was never meant to be,
I remain alas my brother’s keeper.
Why didst Thou my mother’s heart break?
For Martin, until her last day, she grieved
Burdened by guilt she should not have borne
Unto Thee alone she steadfastly cleaved.
Until this every day these years later,
In prayer do I call uponThee in dread.
I can’t help but wonder why you chose Martin …
Wouldst Thou had taken me instead.
I writhe in my anguish to fathom,
Your ways in the wee hours I’ve sought
Why didst Thou decree so severely?
The pain his young death hath wrought.
Alan D. Busch