There’s an old gospel song that I can hardly hear.
Each time I hear it I go back many a year.
When the song begins it brings memories sublime.
It’s title is “Come Home, Come Home, It’s Suppertime
Polio hit my brother when he was only five.
And for a while we didn’t know if he’d survive.
The hospital where he went was many miles away.
And he went there often for a long lonely stay..
When my father returned from one of those long trips
he shared a little story with his trembling lips.
The car radio began to belt out this sad song
and tears appeared on that child who tried to be so strong.
He wouldn’t be coming home for suppertime that day
and neither would he go out in the yard to play.
Several weeks would pass before he’d hear that call,
but even with those tears he attempted to stand tall.
When I hear that song today it grabs at my heart.
My eyes swell up with salty tears which begin to smart.
But someday that call with come and I’ll be able
to join my sweet brother at the supper table.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Peace,love and light,
Amber "V"
Thank Larry, one of the most sweet poems in a long time, a keeper in my library.
Georg
Nwfie Hugs, Rose
Connie