For Mary Keane

There is a type of grace you see

when panic is about.

The countenance to stop a moving train.

The strength to pull the family roots

from where you set them down,

carry them and plant them safely

back in solid ground.

A voice to break the silence

when its noise becomes too loud.

A hand to hold the lantern

when the lights have all gone out.

It is a grace thats traveled down 

the generation line.

From immigrant to immigrant,

Her story is now mine.

and as you find the place that will

eventually be home,

look to the horizon once and know

you're not alone.