Mom

The fog of spring descends this night
Which clouds our view of wrong and right;
O Lord, I come to You again,
And bid you ease this load of pain.

Confused I am on what to do –
Bewildered – You have been there too;
These are Your kids, O Lord, You gave
Them to our care – that you might save –

Them from a life known all too well,
As we look ’round this living hell,
All dressed up in its finery –
Deception cloaked so few can see.

O Lord, the mist of evening air,
Which mingles with my tears of care,
’Till one can’t tell which source is which,
As mine with Angel tears now mix.

I thank You Lord, for fog tonight –
Assurance in the midst of fright,
That in the end prevailing love
Wins out on earth, as up above.

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