How hard it is for the living
To feed those who have forgotten how to eat.
How hard it is to speak words of comfort
To the mute who cannot give voice to their pain.
The professor has become a dolt;
The wise woman forgets how to dress herself;
The grandmother cries for her mommy.

Lord, you have given them so many gifts,
And now you take them away, one by one
Until nothing at all is left.
Some give back willingly all that you ask,
While others fight with their fists,
But no one can resist you.  They all fade away.

The waters rise around them;
We stretch out our arms but cannot reach them.
We call to them, but they cannot hear us.
The waters grow ever wider between us.

Turn, O Lord, toward the living
Who watch the ruined faces,
That we may remember the ending to your son’s story.
Turn and give us the courage to wait with the dying,
Until we also return to you.