Sometimes when I apporach you, you flutter your wings like a wounded bird.
You expect the worst where I come with My love.
You don’t recognize me when My hands are lifting you up.
And you are still afraid when I dress your wounds.
I’d like so much to have your trust, and I’d like it to remian unshaken.
I’d like you to let Me love you.
I know every beat of your heart.
Categorised in: Margaret