The Ancient Woman

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An ancient tree on an ancient hill

Stood before an old window sill

And every morning, every night

An old, ancient woman would come

Who followed His light

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Out the door she would hobble

To the bench which used to be rubble

A new bench built with care

Placed under a strong branch

That happened to be there

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Sometimes she would sit there and sing

Words of praise to her King

Other times she would silently pray

With head bowed down

“Thank you, Lord, for every day.”

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Happy children would come laughing “hee, hee”

To visit the woman under the oak tree

She would tell them stories of old

Fables and poems

And God’s Holy Word, more precious than gold

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The sun goes down, the day is done

Children go to sleep with stories she has spun

God, bless that kind woman who lives up the hill

Keep her safe in your hands

As she follows your will

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Author's Note: I wrote this a few years ago, but I still like it.