It’s Beautiful, Tom

She  opened her eyes wide and melted
Into the beauty of her treasured life.
“It’s beautiful, Tom.” she said,  “Full of love!”
The lines forbade him forgetting himself.
He was a painter of the cherished home.
One who watched the charmed life of the village,
And his sorrow melded into tenderness.
A hymn to the small ones of the hidden,
To their simple life of quiet countryhood.
The ballad could have been the woe and rage
Of one who bore the cross of mother’s pain,
But instead he sighed  into joyous praise.
May each of us be one who brings this spell
From every woe however nigh to Hell.

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