Graveside Service in Eight Syllable Lines

They laid an old, gray, man to rest.
Just few short autumns ago.
He had not yet reached seventy.

Less than three dozen people there.
The sky may have been cold and dark...
The sun maybe shined ... can't recall.
Tears shed, fell, for more than one loss.

They each took turns to say their words
Some people from his family.
No friends were present, not sure why.
Remarks filled with empty regret.
Each talk was brief until the last.

The last of all the speakers, she,
she who had been hurt worst of all
from years spent trying at his side
to start a life, raise kids, and dream
but left with songs of sorrows past
from all his self-centered ventures.

We held our breaths to hear her words
not sure what pain she might reveal.
But she, the hero of the day
no--she, the hero of our lives
recited poetry to him
a sonnet of the good times past
a careful, composed, love letter.

She did not excuse the abuse,
she did not explain the heartache,
she did not return to past tries
she did not bemoan divorces.
She remembered all the goodness
albeit small and far, long past.
Concluded gently, kissed a rose,
laid it with care on his casket.

In that moment all my anger
At a man who had hurt my loves
At a man who I had called monster...
drove a thorn that cut me fiercely
a thorn I hadn't yet removed,
for fear that it made the pain right.
And in that moment, she, the queen
Showed me the face of forgiveness,
carved a place in me for Christ's love.