When the Heart Is Sick

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Daily
I gaze
from the window of my captivity
at the soft greenness of your treetops.

Longing
for a closer glimpse,
for the pungent scent of pine
that lingers along your rich, red pathways.

These feet still remember
the unevenness of your terrain
the sting of thorns
mercilessly grasping at their flesh.

And I eagerly yearn
to hear your whisper
to sense the crisp crunch
of your carpet beneath my feet.

Wait for me.
Though I know not when, we will meet again.

 

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12

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