Pneumonial Praise

Pneumonial Praise
By Arley Steinhour 021312

Dare I ponder what was happening,
To this body so wracked with pain,
Eight days of royal suffering,
Signs of health I could not feign;

Ability to barely breath,
Healing sleep beyond my grasp,
Standing there before the 'Gate,'
With the One-Way Golden Hasp.

In and out of Prayer to God,
On and off, with conscious thought,
Would I meet the cover of the Sod,
Or Raptured out of Cemetery plot?

Thoughts and feelings, much like this,
Ran through my mind, this week,
Would I suffer loss, or enjoy bliss,
And, inherit, as will the meek.

I do not fear what some call 'die,'
The name I like, is 'graduate,'
Either way, like cake or pie,
It can call, and is never late.

What started as suspected Cold,
Proved Pneumonia, I do believe,
Bronchi slime, so sticky and bold,
And nose, no air to retrieve.

Sunday, the glue began to flow,
My breath brought back my life,
Today, a smile I can even show,
Free of that sticky, snotty, strife.

A few more days, recovering,
I'll be as good as new,
Back on line, and Blathering,
My Praise to God, and you.

AMEN