Where did you go today, Vera Mae?

She took off her apron
and walked out the door,
down the steps and crossed the street.

She laid down on the velvet patch,
clasped the blades between her fingers
and stared at the blue canvas above.

Where did you go today, Vera Mae?

A tear tumbled down off her cheek,
she prayed, “O God, are you there?
If this is my lot, it’s well with my soul.”

The crisp air hugged her cheeks
and settled down deep in her lungs.
“This is my lot and it is well.”

Where did you go today, Vera Mae?
You left your apron behind
and the screen door wide open.

Where did you go today, Vera Mae?

You left your apron behind.

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