I put my soul upon a cloth,
And up rose crimson stains.
I gave it to my Lord to wash,
And take away the pains.
He washed it out the best He could,
He rinsed it through and through.
Still, when He handed back to me
My cloth––red residue!
I said, "My Lord, why is this so?"
He wisely then replied,
"My child, it is because 'til now,
My grace you have denied."
And so the sun shines through again,
The clouds lift up their veil,
As I accept this gift of grace,
And find my holy grail.
24 January 2011
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