All Is Not Lost
If I should grow so old that I
Forget my name, beloved faces,
Disremember who I am and
Get lost in familiar places,
Then I would be sad and confused,
I’m sure I would be lonely too;
Yet Lord above, my truest Friend,
I know I’d still remember You.
You who’ve been with me from the start,
From childhood to these aged days,
Would stay with me until life’s done.
I’d recognize You through the haze.
The saddest person I envision,
Who ever on this earth has trod,
Must be the one with mind so dulled,
He has forgotten the true God.
When pleasures of this life are through,
Dear God, my God, I’ll still have you.
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 96th birthday in July of 2014.