He called me,
and I ran to Him;
like a moth to a flame,
I flew to Him
as He drew me.
Wanting only to be near Him,
hearing nothing but His voice,
I knelt before Him;
And felt such joy
that I could scarcely
tear myself away from Him.
Then suddenly I knew
that this is how it feels
to have been wounded by Love.
Ah, love. He will always be with us. :) Eucharist!
ReplyDeleteYes, isn't that the most wonderful thought? What a grace it is to be a Catholic!
ReplyDeleteVery beautiful poem, Kindred. To be wounded by Love is a great grace.
ReplyDeleteIndeed, Paddy. I'm glad that you liked the poem. Thank you.
ReplyDelete