The “wounded surgeon” works while I’m awake And only by compassion does not break The heart which beat so steady yet so dead While severed

Reading Life through the Greatest of Books
The “wounded surgeon” works while I’m awake And only by compassion does not break The heart which beat so steady yet so dead While severed
Touch me, someone,That I might know you’re there! Greet me, anyone,So I am not aloneIn this dark, dark, darkness. I am begging,Begging for more than
Unclean,I hide myself.Lest I am seenAnd sent away,Purged from the cityWhile dogs and rats are allowedTo stay and hide in its alleys, Infect its crevices.
As so often happens, life took priority over poetry. Indeed, I fear this is one of the reasons I am not destined to be the
Reformation Sunday always startles me into awe. As a staunch rule-follower, I am constantly shocked by the reminder of God’s grace in Christ. Of course,