Sacred Moments

An original poem

Deep in the rite I find myself
smoky spice of incense filling
the air and a censer rocking


on its chains carry me back home
to those autumn evenings on mother’s lap
the old rocking chair beside


the fire ablaze. The smoky scent
of burning oak filling the room
while she softly sings me her song.


Rising, she scoops my sleepy form
onto her hip and climbs the oak
staircase with her sway rocking me


as we ascend to my room where
bedside she beckons me to pray.
So I fall to my knees bowing my head


with hands clasped and my prayers rise
like incense with those of the saints
angels around me as I come before God.

~ Rae