Dinner on the Grounds of Heaven
Marcia Bost
Do not grieve for me, my children,
Like heathen who have no hope.
I have a mansion in the celestial city now.
The fountain that waters it is Love,
And the Son never sets.
I am a child again hopping and skipping
And bringing reports of butterflies
To doting aunts and uncles under the spreading shade —
Dinner on the grounds of heaven.
Uncle Will is there with chewing gum in his pockets
And Aunt May has brought her famous apple pie.
Uncle Clarence who died before I was born
Has swung me high above his head.
There’s Mama smiling more than ever on earth
And Pop-paw loving her again.
All my brothers and sisters whose lives
Were measured in hours are here —
And Grandma who died when Mama was two;
Even my stillborn son is showing me around.
When you come, my children —
And I pray you”ll come —
Mine will be the second face you see.
All things have passed.
But not this joy;
It shall not pass.
Thief time has had his hands broken.
Grieve not for me.
This is the place for which
I’ve been homesick
All my life.
(In memory of Julia Layman Inzer—what she would say to me now.)