All Saints Sunday

Acolytes light the candles As the pastor reads each name For newly dead or new baptized, The candle size the same. I know some faces watching Are glistening with tears. For newly born or just departed, There's a span of a hundred years. The youngest saint with a lit candle Has a life just now begun. The eldest in the longer line Died with years one hundred one. There are lights for lives beginning, The innocents just come aboard And lights for friends and loved ones We've relinquished to the Lord. We look fondly at each other, These loved friends we hold so dear. We can't know who's name will be there When the list is read next year. By: Joyce Johnson I am the worst judge of my own poetry so I just took a stab at it.