A Sunday-poem by Mother Mary Francis:
The Mending
There is no shattering love cannot mend,
No shards its gentle hands shall not make whole.
Healing, its glances brush like wings across
The deepest rawness of the heart, and leave
At last, at last no trace of briney woe.
What though we walked in ruins of a dream,
What though our tears had faded out the rose
And gold of what was once a splendid bond?
There is no shattering love cannot mend,
No shards its gentle hands shall not make whole.
Sweet is the love that never knew a wound,
But deeper that which died and rose again.
Such a message of hope and restoration – how much we all need to be reminded of its truth and beauty.
Reblogged this on Witnesses to Hope.