She liked to pray by the knotted old tree <br />On the hill facing the restless sea. <br />She called it her, “Prayer Tree, ” <br />Because, she said, “It’s old and gnarled like me.” <br />Then she blessed herself, and groaning sank to her knees. <br /> <br />She clasped her twisted hands, and asked, “Why? <br />Why me? I’ve done no evil, or hurt no one. <br />Why must I go to where there is none <br />Of the faces or things that I love? <br />Why is my life almost done? ” <br /> <br /> <br />She rose slowly, her bent fingers <br />Clutching her cane. “Listen, linger, ” <br />A voice sang. Somewhere hands reach to you with love. <br />Listen, listen to the voice of the dove, <br />For it sings a song of heaven above. <br /> <br />“Yes cried the crabbed old one, in a voice <br />filled with joy. “Rejoice, rejoice, <br />for I hear the song of the dove! <br />Why, it’s like a cloudburst of love! ” <br /> <br />The old woman walked slowly away, <br />From the ancient tree by the bay, <br />Inside she felt a softness like the wings of a dove. <br />She sank slowly to her knees, <br />As it rose within, and flew, free!<br /><br />Mary Naylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-prayer-tree/
