A Disciple

When asked to speak his given name,
He looks away, does not reply,
His age, his height, his weight, the same,
And no one knows exactly why.

He visits for a day or two,
Waves his arms and shakes his head,
Loves to say, “A clue, a clue,”
Until I take him to his bed.

Walking slowly down the hall,
We pass Him watching over us
While He hangs upon the wall
Arms spread out upon the cross.

A young disciple on this night,
Alec stops where my love cries,
Switches on the hallway light
And gazes up to Jesus’ eyes.

“Jesus”, he says. Now we can see
Why we are and where we go,
Hand in hand, both him and me,
And that is all we need to know.

Rich Tassinari
1/16/2009

Written more than 5 years ago about my autistic grandson who is now 16. He still likes to watch videos of "Blues Clues", visits almost every weekend, and attends our Sunday service at home.