Poetry

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"Mondays are always hard," she said.
Children up, and out of bed.
Wash, and eat, to start the day.
On the way to school we pray,

'Help my children to succeed,
guide their actions, fill their needs.'
Kisses, waves, backpacks swinging.
Wonder what the world is bringing?

The radio plays Christian song.
Rejoicing as she drives along.
So grateful for 'Commuter Space,'
to Worship, pray, and feel His Grace.

Another role begins to play,
'Maestra', Teacher for the day.
Twenty little faces stare,
hoping someone, somewhere cares.
'Jesus fill me, let me be,
all the things You need from me.'

Five p.m. and head for home,
wondering about 'her own'.
"How was your day?" and,
"Who needs what?"
That cup of coffee hit the spot.

Dinner, Homework,
baths and bed.
Prayers and kisses 'Sleepy Head.'

A quiet ending to her day.
Time to read, and write, and pray.
Time to 'Stop', reflect, refill.
Searching out The Fathers Will.

Thankfully, she climbs in bed.
"Mondays are always hard," she said.

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