August

You did not rush me-
leaving the cup empty,
as I filled the porcelain
with sorrow water.

You said: Though you hate yourself,
pitying each loss, mistake, wrong,
don’t you see how deep My love for thee goes?

I said: I worry You’ll leave too. You’ll say, “woe is her. She knows not what she wants.” Oh, to taste Your wine, pungent joy, I fear I’ll become drunk.

You said: Does the Georgia breeze not stir your soul to meet with Me time and time again? You sit in the chair, rocking your fears given brevity. You let them simmer, will not let the nightingale sing you to sleep.

I said: étonnant grace You show me now as I have nothing to fear.
You have said: I will never leave, nor forsake this child I love so. She is altogether beautiful. There is no flaw within.

You said: Trust in Me. It may seem all is ending, but I AM with thee.

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