I am here with you, loving you,
praying for you. You need not speak at all.
If it’s alright to put my hand on yours,
just nod and I will gently let hand fall

on top of your still hand resting on sheets
ever so white, ironed ever so straight.
I touch your dry, cold hand unlike the heat
of your brow with a fever so great.

Your eyes are closed and so I, too, close mine
and offer silent prayer unto the sky
that Christ will visit you with love divine
and bring you the peace that passes closely by.

The fever breaks; you open your eyes and grin
seeing the tears of joy running down my chin.

We both laugh; your wink is understood.
Our laughter joins with Jesus in gratitude.