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.
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