Not a box of chocolates
or spray of roses,
but ash smudged on your forehead:
a reminder, dust,
that you shall some day blow away.
Dirt in the shape of a heart,
dust in the form of a life—
now, this life:
given, but so briefly,
like a breath,
cherished, with such sweet hope.
A Valentine from God’s own longing heart,
both praise and plea:
Love you to death.
Won’t you be mine?
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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