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
Poet of Ephraim 
One thought on “When It Comes”