There is a poem I love by Ruth Whitman called My Daughter the Cypress. I wrote something that is an adaptation of it. I want to make it clear that I am giving her the credit for the poem, and that mine is a copycat. I’m not trying to violate a copyright. As such, I’d like to request that you do not post my poem anywhere else until I look into it further and try to get permission from whoever it is I need to get permission from. The author is deceased, so it may take awhile.
Here is the original poem: My Daugther the Cypress Ruth Whitman (1922-1999) -
Sleep, little daughter, I’ll plant you a tree Even as grandmother planted for me, One tiny sapling more for the hill Where two little cousins are flourishing still. -
Sleep. Sleep, dream of the sea, Your cradle’s a caïque, your tree, your tree Will be a mast to take you from me Grown for the boy who fells you free. -
Sleep, sleep, the tree is yet small, An infant tree, not three years tall, It mocks its sisters, flutters its boughs, Hush, hush, it rains, it snows, -
Summer suns lengthen your hair, You grow tall, you move with care, And from the sea bright blue and white, A sailor whistles in the night. -
But sleep, sleep, not yet, not yet - The hull is carved, the mast is set Sleep one more night in Arcady, My little girl, my cypress tree. - |
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My Daugther the Cypress by Ruth Whitman (1922-1999) adaptation by Deanna Parish -
Sleep, little daughter, I’ll plant you a tree A tribute to you, a reminder for me, Your stake in the world, here on the hill Where your two big sisters are flourishing still. -
Sleep, sleep, dream of the sea, Your cradle’s a caïque, your tree, your tree Will be a mast to take you from me When the hand of death comes to fell you free. -
Wait, wait, the tree is so small, An infant tree, not three months tall, But the winter has come, freezing the boughs, The leaves are falling, it snows, it snows, -
Summer suns you’ll never see, I yearn for what can never be, For from the sea bright blue and white, Death whispers to you in the night. -
But wait, wait, not yet, not yet - The hull is carved, the mast is set - Sleep one more night here next to me, My little girl, my cypress tree. -
Interestingly enough, I looked up the symbolism of this tree, and it turns out it represents bodily death and spiritual immortality, and is a tree of mourning. So I guess it is even more appropriate than I thought. |
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Missing Eliana
A journey of grief after losing my daughter.
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August 12, 2008 at 12:45 pm
Anonymous
“At Home With Jesus” by Gerald Oosterveen
Gerald Oosterveen reflects on the day his 9-year-old son Gerard was buried. Gerard had fought a courageous 39-month battle with cancer.
Parents are not supposed to bury their children. The old are not supposed to stand beside the graves of the young. It is unnatural. One is not prepared for it. The death of a child tears apart a family like the uprooting of one plant out of a cluster that has been allowed to grow together in one pot. It cannot be done. All those roots become so intertwined over the years that nothing short of violence can separate them. And it leaves all the plants stunned…
In the end, God will always be victorious. Satan may rampage through the world and through the souls of people, with God’s inscrutable permission, and cause indescribable disaster and anguish. When he is finished, however, and arrogantly boasts to God, “Look what I’ve done,” God will silence him with his majestic, “And now look what I can do.” Then Satan will shamefacedly slink into the corners of his hell while God goes about his work of redemption and restoration.
Oh, yes, we mourn…But we have hope-bright hope for tomorrow, when all who trust in Jesus Christ as Savior will move beyond pain and grief forever because we shall be forever with the Lord. And it is not just some pipe dream, some opium to stupify and mislead hurting people. It is real, because Christ is real, because in our past there is a blood-stained cross on which the Prince of Glory died. Because of that bloody, pain-filled past we have hope when all things are made new and death shall be no more, nor grief, nor crying.
In a little cemetery in a small, out-of-the-way town, there is a tiny marker. It bears only three lines: 1961-1970 Gerard Richard Oosterveen “At Home With Jesus.”
Of the three, the last line is the only one that really matters. The last line sums up a glorious, endless future, and adventure that for my son has only just begun. Even if he remembers his life on earth, I am sure his joy has wiped away any recollection of pain.”
August 14, 2008 at 12:52 pm
Anonymous
Deanna,
When you have some time after Elisabeth, Rebeckah, and Troy have gone to bed … do some research and read the following blogs and/or look up some articles on SCC (he is the most prominent of the bunch). All three of these families are experiencing a lot of the same pain you are. You may find them encouraging and may want/need to reach out to one of them. You may not know who I am, but I have been praying for your family for a while now.
http://www.stevencurtischapman.com (or pick up the latest copy of PEOPLE magazine for the story)
http://www.audreycaroline.blogspot.com
http://www.thelukesponbergfoundation.blogspot.com
With all due respect, I read something you once wrote about this experience restoring your faith in people. I must let you know that the Lord is the one operating through these people. He cares for you and loves you more than anyone can express to you … please remember that He once lost a son as well.