A spring-like day conceals a broken heart
but more than that an emptiness within;
a tear in time, a breech in heaven's art,
but more than that a sin to end all Sin.
Can this be all we have to say to Love;
does all creation count for nothing more;
could it be that which must be born above
does all but turn us not to heaven's door?
Each time around this awful truth we turn
forgets how soon forgetting never knows
each moment as a gift we cannot earn
forgets how Life Your grace alone bestows.
Goodness waits not for us our turn to take.
Goodness knows not that one She can forsake.
No comments:
Post a Comment