In the sweetness of brushes with air drifts that paint,
a lightness is catching the soft songs of saints.
Hush, oh so new, this is a virgin heart’s due,
Born in the dawn, in the silent moon’s hue.
Fragile the silence that draws back the veils.
It breathes in and out with mysterious wails.
Tipping all stance and former commands,
I bend at the door of His Glory and stand.
Soft comes the Light in its touch to embrace,
I am covered in wonder, in rapture and grace.
Like a seedling that breaks with all might through the ground,
I burst with a joy that at last, I am found.
© 2016 Linda Willows