Words

I’m not worthy to be called Yours, and yet,
That is what You call me. You say, “My own,”
And the very words are true, because You said them.

What is bone and flesh, joint and ligament,
Even thought, unless Your life-breath makes it true?
I have tasted Your flesh and drunk Your blood. You are altogether good.

One word, one brush-stroke, one ink-blot–
Each is a finished work.

inkThe unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple.“–Psalm 119:130

 

 

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