Psalm 77:1-6

Grief has mined my soul

scoured through the gravel, tipped the tress,

exposed the heart,

carved its shape on me forever.

I am laid bare.

Yet …

From this barren centre where not even the roots survive

you have scooped jewels,

shaped and polished,

set the colours in place.

The valuables have been carted away.

I am excavated.


And what if …

What if there is only usefulness?

Only product and outcomes and balance sheets?

What if the soft earth never returns?

Will grief define me forever?


God, take away this trampling,

this roar of relentless destruction.

God, send the seasons

of predictable pain and joy

that seeds will take hold

and the world will flower again.

Sharonne Price

This poem was written after home visits to a young couple whose baby was dying. It would be the third infant death for them. “She will die soon,” they said, with a  desperate resignation.

The poem was first published in “Behold” magazine,  September- November 2006

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