Tuesday, 24 November 2009


Dear Sarah Anne, You will, I hope,
Forgive this probing of your wound:
Changing, your sorrow waits, cocooned,
Till God's time gives its glossed wings scope.

Within, where it cannot be seen,
The oyster cradles its own grief
And layer on layer secures relief
In giving to the pearl its sheen.

Go by the north gate and its cold
Into God's house; be restful there,
Till sent out by the south gate, where
Well-watered, southern lands unfold.

The One for whom the north wind blew
In chastening, as proof of grace,
Now, for another time and place,
Is He who sends the south winds too.

Ezekiel 46:9; Song of songs 4: 16.


  1. Very beautiful poetry you have here. Thanks so much for stopping my way the other day.

    Blessings of peace & all that is good!

  2. dear david,
    this precious poem of yours reminded me so much of this verse.
    John 10:9
    I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.
    once a person is saved and has come in to the green pastures, they can go further in and even if they go out by times, the first "in" is still there!...like the southern gate still protecting them...ah! two ins!
    i think that you are not probing sarah anne's wounds..you are giving them sweet balm, and these memorial poems to little baby marina are as treasures in her heart!..........from terry

    "there is a balm in gilead"


I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!