Broken
Do not despise the tears contrite heart comfort from above a promise my love Where one ends and another starts dropping down like a wingless dove They are caught in you Father's hand like a sweet smelling prayer serene Better to hurt a little than to be bland like a tasteless parched terrene The same hand will wipe them away moulding is made easier when wet while the potter shapes the clay Seeing their love even Jesus wept even now while you are weeping freeing you from fear no more sighing my love sorrowing with God they are only sleeping in the end they are soaring like your love
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