A sword will pierce your soul,
As a word will prise the heart,
Taking what was given,
And tearing it apart,
Born to live by a heartbeat’s rhythm,
Living to die by the hands of those forgiven,
A gift from God to human hands,
This child, immaculate, perfection’s hope driven,
Marvelling at phrases and storing up treasures in hearts,
Birth-blessings descend, an explosion of words,
But where this life ends,
Is on a tree, preceded by the clatter of swords,
There is redemption to be found,
In this little life’s fulfilment at the cross,
And with it the weight of a parent’s pain,
Salvation is attained, but not without cost.
1 comment:
Thanks for this, Tim x
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