When It Comes

The morning of our mourning is shattered by our Rock

Our Fortress – Deliverer – Oh, shepherd of the flock,

The curtains are swept and gathered like lambs,

Sweet bleets, blessed Light, and loving commands,

We cling to His voice with a new born grip,

No foothold for pain – no sin – no slip,

My friend, my friend – why art thou downcast?

Open thine eyes – see home, at last!

A poem by “Bellaberry” in response to Home Sick

One thought on “When It Comes

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