Grace

"At the cry of the first bird,
they began to Crucify Thee, O Swan.
Never shall lament cease because of that.
It was like the parting of day from night!
Ah, sore was the suffering borne
by the body of Mary's Son.
But sorer still to Him, was the grief
that for His sake came upon his Mother."

I tripped and fell,
slid my face into the dirt.
Again.
Every time I feel like giving up.
I'll never walk.
I'll never run.
I might not even crawl.
Every time you give me your hand--
lift me up from the dirt,
and softly whisper
"try again."
You grasp my hand firmly
and say, "if you let me lead,
you won't ever fall."
I get up, take a step.
Then I notice the flowers
on the side of the path.
My hand starts to slide,
reaching to the petals.
"Hold tight to me!"
I ignore-- I want to
feel these blossoms.
I suddenly start slipping,
and fall face first in the dirt.
Again.
You pick me up,
brush off the dirt,
and offer me your hand.
Again.
I grasp your hand tightly,
gaze up at you,
and begin to walk.
I feel secure.
You look down at me and smile.
We start going faster.
Soon I am sprinting.
I see the finish line ahead!
We laugh and dash forward,
to the end of the track.
"Well done, my child."