I am covered low, in love divine,
as one braced soft in sacred vine.
A wreath by day, thou lights heart shrine.
And come the night, Star shine, soul’s brine.
The eyes of Heaven opened, revered.
Holy, holy, Our Lord comes near.
A hush of prayer bows low, sweet with tears.
Oh Father, Abba, Our Lord, He is here.
© 2015 Linda Willows