All that set in this child’s mortal heart…
like bird landing soft- was soon to part..
In palm of one hand, a cup that thirsts,
yet could not grasp tight, lest all love would burst.
So fragile was the love desired…
that thirst nor hunger could set it acquired.
All hearts that hold this bird in grasp
live out the sting of loss in deep gasp.
For no worldly thing may fill this cup,
as we turn, our tears, they reach farther up.
In Godly calls come a chalice of the gold,
divined from that One’s Love’s threshold.
Heart-worldly love finds fragile ashes;
bleeds the letting vein ’til glass crashes.
Only the soul may keep this Dove…
a Gift forever from our God above.
When we thirst to fill this cup
The Waters pour divine Love’s sup…
Eternity’s Grace of attending sweet lift
that our heart’s may rest in such merciful gift.
alone, our path
must be sown…
seed home, Lord, Abba..
Lord home. Lord home.
Roamed and grown..
reborn and owned.
Hand to open in Love. Now known
Your own, I am
Lord, vein to Heart;
all that begins,
is not born apart.
Your own, Your own, Lord-
I have come home.
Roamed and grown, Lord
Roamed and grown.
Sweet love’s child breaking,
is reaped in Love sown.
She lives in Throne’s Kingdom.
Your Own, Lord come Home.”
©2015 Linda Willows; republish 2016