She waits
Magnificent yet unseen
At the heart of Life
Watching as the weary homeowner trudges by
Under his burden of reponsibility
And unearned guilt.
She waits
Luminous and eternal
Her gentle hands weaving
Tapestries of fate and circumstance
For those who drift
Or else are kept from drifting.
She waits
Offering her wand of blessing
From which fall a thousand sparkling suns
Each one a beacon of hope
In an expanse of seeming darkness.
She waits
At the heart of Life
And says: "Mine are the steps that made your path.
Mine are the hands that pulled aside the thorny branches.
Mine is the breath that melted the ice that covered your shivering breast.
Mine is the order and the axis and the will to endure.
Mine is the whispering wind and the sounding sea.
Mine is the rugged mountain and the sleeping valley.
And all of it a home to you,
Whenever you no longer fear these hands of mercy,
Come home to me and rest."