September 16, 2011

Painted Red

I'm cold.
The world is cold.
But You are a gentleman
And You offer me Your coat.
It's painted red.
Stepping inside grace wraps around.
I zip it up tight under my chin
To keep out the bitter wind.

Winter is coming in all its glory.
I sit and ponder its longevity.
Uncomfortable.
Something unexpected I begin to see.
Your wind, though allowingly cold,
Has blown through my limbs;
Gently brushing away dead leaves
I knew not had begun to cling.

They are floating, floating, flying away.
I am becoming more beautiful
As You strip away the dead things.
Revealing what has been underneath but had grown dull.
The most beautiful vision of consistent love
Revealing what to Your alter I bring;
You are making room.  Room for blooms
In the warmth of the Spring.

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