In the vicarage garden on a bench
The frail old vicar sits in an autumn breeze
Overcoat, scarf, hat and gloves against the cold
Pondering on the gifts which God bestowed.
Gifts of wife, children, friends and neighbours
He gives thanks for his wondrous life
Giving service to others without complaint
Working in his Lord's vineyard harvesting souls.
He feels a pain in his chest that quickly passes
And his life like sunlight at dusk begins to fade
Then from the shadows step two familiar figures
His cherished parents long since passed onto Heaven.
They smile and hold out their hands to him
" Time for you to come, my son, " says his father
And gently they take the old vicar by the hand
Leading him forth towards a bright dazzling light.
Colin Ian Jeffery
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vicarage-garden/
