Moistening the Parched Soul

I can still feel your hand

A weak squeeze

Dry skin against mine

Still hear the machine

Pulsating in the background

Providing you oxygen

Still feel the humid breeze

Blowing through the window

Ruffling strands of hair

Still feel the oppressive heat

From a late summer day

Permeating the room

Still feel the furrowed brow

As my fingertips moved

Across your gray hair

Still sense the sadness

As life slowly slipped away

With each passing breath

Each strained breath

I sat with you that day

Next to your bed

Next to your frail body

A raspy word, barely audible

Emerged from your lips

“Water.”

I imagined what it felt like

As I raised moistened sponge

To your parched mouth

Brief refreshment

A soothing moment

Amidst the pain

I hope my presence

Did the same

A moment of peace

Soothing peace

For your parched soul

Then Jesus declared, “I am the…