I see her leathered, weathered skin;
she's bowed with care and unaware
of what she needs
to feed this ache,
this gaping, growing, wounded place
Can I draw the curtain from her face
and trace the lines of pain
etched deep
while sleep eludes
and woe exudes from every pore
Please tell me that there's more
to this forlorn and broken state,
remove the weight,
tend and mend
her tattered, tortuous heart
More tortuous than anything is the human heart,
beyond remedy; who can understand it?
(Jer 17:9)
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