My own tears flow to see My children on the go.
Together they march along the tune to ‘church’ to ‘church’ to ‘church’!
It’s Sunday. It’s Saturday. To that deity of our choice we must head on.
To that church with the cross we must give our most.
While I sit on My throne letting the tears profusely flow and glow
In the gold that lines your heart
Where to start? Where do us part?
The garden of life planted fresh
The forbidden tree was chosen for best
To death My children’s march began
Still going on
To death that ‘church’ with the ‘cross’ leads them on.
Let the tears flow …
Thanks, my Father! You know what’s best for the rest. You promised to fertilize my garden with the flow of my tears. Let Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Meantime and until the next post? Much love in my heart for you dear Reader and for all. Your sister, thia.
