The door may creak, it weathered much.
Oh kindly try, it aches for the touch.
See the dust and tall history crests…
sparkle like gold in the shine of one test.
Call them again, let them return,
They who lost all and forgave not the burn.
God does look in and wrap round Eden’s blue,
Such mystery days will recall Love’s Rescue.
Pray us home, Love.
Let History be birth’s, New.
Forgive our lost way,
as we come Home sweet to You.
Photograph by Vasil Anastasovski