by Anne K. Kaler
When my father died more than thirty years ago, I wrote this poem in his memory, hoping that these words will make up for the words I could not say out loud to him. His artistic works live on in my treasures, as his humor and love live on in a new and better life.
The Thief of Time
God robs the world of color in the fall.
He draws the greenness down and out the roots
To hide from man the power of His Love.
So too He robs the world of one beloved,
My father, lying under browning grass,
The one who always loved bright colors best –
Sharp green, bold crimson, saffron and bright gold.
He lies now dormant ‘neath the pallid roots,
All colors fled from this grey world of ours.
God melds all shades into a burst of white
(Though hidden in the bleak grey-black of death)
To raise him up on one triumphant day,
Beneath that “dome of many-coloured glass”
From hues now hidden by the grey-brown grass.
Anne K. Kaler, Ph.D. As a life-long reader, Anne (always with an “e”) is now attempting to read every book in the universe, while helping to publishing more. Surprised to learn that she was actually a teacher, she persisted in that field for nearly fifty years until she started volunteering at PSB.