Her good god
She lay
Exhausted,
Her good God
Abandoned,
Ravaged by
Her grief
The fragile cloth of her life
Torn and tattered
The tender flesh of her soul
Ripped and bleeding.
And the voice of the abandoned God
Spoke gently
Dropping still dews of quietness*
Into her fevered mind,
And
She
Rested
In the arms
Of her abandoned God
Until daybreak
When the calls of life
Stretched before her
And
She walked through her days
Clutching the thread
Tied to her hand
By the God
Who had not abandoned her.
And slowly
She stitched her soul and
Tended her broken heart and
Filled its cracks with gold
And stronger now
She lifted her face
To the sun
And
The warm breeze
Of love
Rippled across the dark waters
Of her sorrow
Healing
Slowly
Surely.
And she reached out
And took the hand
Of her God
And knew
Herself
Healed.
*John Greenleaf Whittier who helped her to heal, and whose words were spoken in her darkest hour, a light that did not dim, but led her home.
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