THE BLESSED ARMS OF YOU

THE BLESSED ARMS OF YOU

I thought I was too young to know
The drumbeat of the marching band,
That leads the way to heaven,
And death, that foreign land.

I thought I was too old to feel,
The thrill of true love ways,
The sweet sound of your sweet voice calling,
To lighten up my days.

For some days I feel ancient,
Like Sisyphus with the boulder on his shoulder,
And some days I feel numbness,
As my world turns slowly colder.

I thought I was too old, alas, to see the world anew,
For my tired old eyes to come alive to the miracle of you.
For to youth, lost time means not a thing, we hardly mourn its passing,
Until we grow enough to know, it's rarely everlasting. 

The muscles they all stiffen and the joints they creak and ache,
And the mind is unforgiving of all my past mistakes.
I thought I was too old for mercy, for someone soft and sweet,
Until the wind it blew me you, landing at my feet.

Now perhaps the groaning grave can wait a year or so,
Or five or ten or twenty, only God in heaven knows.
I thought I was too old to live, too odd, too strange, too blue,
Until your kindness filled the room, an angel weaver at the loom.
And this battered heart once deaf of tone at long last sang in tune.

I thought that I was far too old,
To know the beauty of a song,
Until you came and graced my life,
And in time I sang along.
So if my days are numbered, be they many or a few,
I will live them out in sacred bliss, in the blessed arms of you.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED