A poet is like a sponge, soaking up the feelings of others and expressing the experiences of many. My heart is no longer shattered, though I sometimes notice the pain of past bruising. Yet, I will not forget. I will remember the pain and rejoice in the healing. Like a little lamb, drawn to the Master's side, I will go--and He will carry me.  

My shattered heart,

Oh my shattered heart,

Do you see the pieces lying there?

Scattered on the chair, blood red,

They glisten with the sound of doom.

Does no one care? Does no one

even see my shattered heart?

                          ~

Come to me you wounded

and broken and I will bear you up

on my shoulder like a little lamb..

     ~

The night is dark the pain

is fierce, my cries unheard

for they pierce not the night

but my own broken heart..

Oh, he is here and death

and fear and pieces of my

soul are mingled on the chair.

                      _

Come to me you wounded

and broken and I will bear you up

on my shoulder like a little lamb.

                             ~

The years have passed

Where did they go?  I have

forgot-and yet, I know

Ignorance is not bliss and so

Come Shepherd come

and take me out of this..

                   ~

Come to me you wounded

and broken and I will bear you up

on my shoulder like a little lamb.

 

And still He speaks

Do you hear him?

Do you hear him now?